Repairing the Present
by The Cowgirl Bookworm
Summary: Horatio and Laila Collins are happily dating. When her parents decide to come down for a visit, Horatio is thrown into the small town world of gossip and suspicion. With a new string of crimes popping up in Miami, it's all he can do to remain in control as he works on dividing his personal life from his work. Part 2 of the Time To Heal series. Horatio/OC
1. Chapter 1

Laila Collins was driving down one of Miami's many causeways when she got the call. She had been expecting it for awhile, and she felt her hand shake when she pressed the answer button and the speakerphone switch. It had been inevitable really. All it was was a matter of time. The fact that it occurred a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving would only make it worse. Truth be told, she had dreaded this moment.

"Hello Mom." She said, navigating around a snowbird in a jeep.

"Laila, honey. How are you?" Her mother's voice was cheery, if rather tinny from the phone.

"I'm good. How's everything in Conger?"

"Well enough, but it's cold."

"Mom, it's Iowa. It's always cold."

"Maybe we should come down to Florida. Get all tan and eat some turkey?" Her mother was never one for beating around the bush. "You want me and Jeff to come down? We could all be a family again." Laila felt a pang of regret. She really hadn't seen her parents in a year. But, there was another person she needed to consult. Her eyes slipped down to the boxes of forensics journals that occupied her front seat and the others that were in her backseat and her trunk.

"Well, I'd love it. I really miss you guys." Her voice almost cracked. She had some decent emotional support now, but an only child never stopped missing her parents. She was just about to continue when her mother broke in.

"So, should we book a flight?"

"Whoah, easy there. I need to speak to someone else. Okay?" Truth be told, Laila had hidden the fact that she had a steady boyfriend from her parents. Her father had a very protective nature, and it bothered him that he couldn't oversee her life down in Florida. Her mother was the town gossip, and her love life would have disseminated through Conger quicker than a gerbil on speed.

"You-someone-speak, a roommate maybe?" Her mother, whose name was Denice, sputtered. Laila could hear her whispering. "Not a boy, not a boy. oh please God, not a boy." She couldn't help but grin when she spoke.

"Actually, boyfriend." Laila braced herself for the tirade. Glancing down the causeway, she pulled off at an exit and parked outside a shopping center. This was going to take awhile and she didn't want to get crazy with her driving as she explained. She took it off speakerphone and held it up to her ear.

"Laila Marie Collins, you are living with a man and you aren't married! And I know you aren't married, because my daughter would have called! I knew Florida would do this to you. I just knew it! Imagine what Father Reeves would say if he knew. We're going to be the laughingstock of the town once this gets out." Denice practically exploded through the phone. Laila cringed away from the earpiece.

"Mom, just calm down a bit. I'll explain." She took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to explain. She told her mother how she had met her boyfriend, Lieutenant Horatio Caine, in a bar and they had set up a date. Laila neglected to mention that he had hauled her drunk ass home that night. Her mother kept a tense silence the whole time. Feeling the awkward silence build, she began to explain how her boss had unfortunately been murdered by one of his design staff and Horatio had been willing to believe in her innocence. She didn't tell her mother about how Horatio had an emotional breakdown before that and she had held him throughout the night, providing what little comfort she could in talking to him. Her mother definitely didn't need to know about their athletic activities involving the bed.

"And when did this take place?" Denice asked. Laila didn't like the fact that she was holding herself back. When her mother held herself back from asking questions, they tended to come out in a flood.

"Middle of September. We've been dating for a few months, and he asked I would move in with him." Laila could still see the uncertainty in Horatio's eyes. "I asked him for some time, thought about it, then called him later that week with a counteroffer. He would move in with me instead." She also could remember the laughter that emerged when she laid out her offer as she would have laid out an advertisement plan for a company. Horatio had accepted her offer, and she had been shuttling his belongings to her apartment for a few days.

"Is it serious?" Her mother's voice was reserved.

"Mom, he's a police Lieutenant. He's always serious." Laila let a little emotion trickle into her voice. "But we like each other. A lot. I'll talk to him about you guys coming over. I do miss you, and Dad."

"We miss you too Laila. I guess, well I guess I will wait for you to call me." Her mother did try to understand, but sometimes it was hard for her to accept what Laila had done in her life. Laila had no doubt that her father would know soon enough, and then the story would get passed around the local bar. Form there it would be told to wives, who would whisper it over telephones, and to teens who would text it back and forth. _Thank God Miami doesn't have a gossip tree._

"I will soon. I love you, Mom."

"I love you too. Bye."

"Bye." The phone clicked as her mother hung up. With a huff, Laila pulled into drive and got back onto the causeway. A short time later she was pulling up to her apartment building. Leaving her Mustang in a loading zone, she got a cart from the front desk and loaded up Horatio's books. An elevator ride only took a few minutes to reach the twentieth floor, where she lived. Being so high up gave her a great view of the ocean, that she regularly enjoyed from her balcony. Laila unlocked her door, comforted immediately by the familiar sights of her apartment.

There was a small entryway, which flowed into a living room done in tan and light blue. Everything was tiled with little white squares, and a small set of tiled steps rose up to display the dark wooden dining table that had come from Horatio's apartment. Just behind the table, and a little ways to the right, the door to the balcony was hidden behind a sheer white curtain. The newest additions though, were five large bookcases. Two of them were filled to the gills, her library stashed away finally. The others were in the process of being filled with Horatio's books, knickknacks, and pictures.

"Horatio, you always are thoughtful." She muttered as she set the books in front of the bookcases. He had actually suggested the bookcases when he had come over to find her tearing through her apartment looking for a single book. With a weekend free, they had spent their time building the bookcases and watching football. Truthfully, aside from the typical sniping about instructions that came with building furniture, they got along really well. She had accepted the fact that he took his job as a priority, which had come around after he had missed a date for a case and had shown up the next day with flowers and an apology. He had been able, so far, to put up with her football fixation and her love of books. Her job required a small amount of time outside the apartment, most of what she did was done over the Internet, and he didn't seem to mind that she tended to go out later in the afternoon.

Laila smirked as she took the cart back down. Ever since seeing him breaking down, she had felt like she understood him. Horatio was protective, he was loyal, and he tried to take on the world's burdens. He didn't speak about his feelings often. He tried to keep them down, buried underneath his will. The few times he had let them out, she had been there to comfort him if needed and strengthen him. Seeing a human being break down like that, it had bonded them. He wasn't the only one who had broken. Laila regretted remembering this, but she tried to tell herself to use it to make her stronger. After seeing her boss in a pool of his own blood, she had gone almost comatose. Horatio had cared, taking her home and being there when she broke down crying.

Neither of them had asked for the other to comfort them.

They just had.

* * *

Horatio Caine felt slightly odd parking in the high-rise's parking lot. He still wasn't used to calling this place home. He wasn't afraid to call it home, this place had always been one of comfort. It had been a strange few months for him. Sleep, one of the only things that eluded him, had returned when he was with Laila. A continuous romantic relationship, one that hadn't been interrupted by suspicion and death, had kept him both uneasy and extremely happy. He was worried that he would do something that would set her off and she would leave.

His biggest worry had been asking her to move in. They had been dating for about two months when he had asked her. It was one of their usual Monday dates, going for dinner and a walk at night. She had tensed in his arms, letting the jacket he had wrapped around her shoulders slip had looked out at the ocean for a few moments before responding. Truth be told, they always seemed to be at the ocean. Every one of their dates ended with a walk along the beach. But, back to the story. She had asked for time, and he had given it. Over the next week they had texted each other, but he didn't see her until she had come into his office as he was packing to leave on a Friday. Laila had set her briefcase down and asked him to listen to her offer. She had detailed how she thought that living together would pose no issue, but his apartment did. She felt it was small, and too far away from the beach. What she offered was for Horatio to live with her. He would have access to all of her things, to her balcony, and she would even begin transferring his belonging over to her apartment. He had been struck by how professional she had been, almost like a general laying out a battle plan. He had to stifle some laughter while listening.

He had accepted.

Truth be told, he was glad to be living with her now. They had both found out that they slept better when the other was present, but this couldn't be all the time. Some days he would have to work late, or he would get called in. Other days she would work late into the night on a project for her consulting and would fuel herself with soda. The way she had put it made sense to him. **_It's like I can sleep, but I sleep ten times better when you're_**_ **there. **_Horatio shook these thoughts out of his head as he stepped into his new home.

"Hey Horatio!" He heard Laila call. He glanced around to find her organizing a collection of journals on a bookshelf. He walked over, enjoying the way she had dragged two armchairs and coffee table over to make a reading area. He also enjoyed the fact that she had been willing to accept the bookcases. Coming to watch a football game, he had found blankets and pillows thrown everywhere as she groped for a book under her bed. Horatio had decided to teach her how to organize.

"Laila." He said. Horatio had always been one for simplicity. She turned around and kissed him. As usual, it was light but held the promise of something further if that's what he wanted. Sometime he took her up on that offer, other times he let it pass by. This time, he returned her kiss, but not with the passion that held promises of things to come. Laila didn't seem to mind, instead turning around to look at the bookshelves. He could see the pride she had in filling them. "Lot of books."

"Half of them are yours." She retorted, sidestepping around him. "I'm getting dinner on. The meatloaves are almost done." Horatio smiled. Laila had been cooking for him more often, and he had to admit he enjoyed it. A good home-cooked meal was a viable remedy to a hard day of work. It was after the meatloaf was finished that he noticed she looked nervous.

"Is everything alright?" He asked as they took up a spot on the couch. Laila bit her lip before she responded.

"My parents. They want to come down for Thanksgiving and my mother isn't exactly pleased that I've decided to live with you." She didn't seem to upset, but there was a concern in her voice. "I told her that I would talk to you about them coming down."

"Why does she care if we're living together?" Horatio truthfully couldn't see the reason she would be so upset.

"You're from New York, right?"

"Yes."

"And you've lived in Miami for awhile?" It felt more like a question than a statement from her.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Horatio, you don't get what it's like to live in a small town. Everyone's very conservative and everybody knows everybody. My parents didn't live together until they were married. My mother is the town gossip, she considers you socially awkward if you don't know what your neighbor ate for dinner three days ago." With a sudden urge, Laila stood up out of his arms. She paced around the couch. "I left there to get away from all of that. I don't want you to get caught up in all of it. Down here, nobody cares what you do. Back home, it's weird if you do anything alone."

"Laila, just calm down." Horatio stood, catching her by the shoulders. "I can take care of myself. I'm fairly sure I can handle your parents." With a smirk he ran his hands through her hair. God, how he loved that hair. It was so soft, and whatever product she used on it made it smell amazing.

"Oh Horatio, you might live to regret those words." Her voice was light, but her words were anything but. Horatio chuckled, before drawing her back to the couch. She joined him, grabbing a pillow. "So, should I call her back on my own, or do you want to talk to her?"

"I'll talk, you listen." Horatio grabbed her phone from its place on an end table. He studiously ignored Laila's look of disbelief. She let it go, snuggling onto his shoulder with a muttered 'this ought to be good'. He flipped through her contacts until he found the one labeled Mother. It rang a few times, he had set it on speakerphone.

"Laila?"

"Actually, m'am, this is Lieutenant Caine of the Miami-Dade PD." Horatio talked with a firm voice, keeping it calm.

"Are you the man that's been dating my daughter?" Laila's mother, who's name she quickly whispered into his ear, sounded shrill.

"Yes, Mrs. Collins. In fact, I wanted to invite you down for Thanksgiving." Horatio could almost hear Denice's jaw hitting the floor. "We would love to have you both come down, and I would like to meet both of you personally."

"I-I, I guess we can look for flights. I'll just call you with the details later."

"That sounds fine. Have a good night."

"You too, Lieutenant. You too." With a click, her mother hung up. Laila began to laugh, a wonderful sound that reminded him of their walks on the beach. When she finally regained her breath, she spoke.

"I have never heard her speechless before." She said, burying herself in his shoulder. "And while I would love to stay here all night, I need to take a bath. Plus, you've got work." Laila seemed to heave a world weary sigh as she stood to go. Horatio watched her leave, wanting to follow but decided to stay and watch the news. Once he was certain she was done, he went to her bedroom. _Our bedroom_, he chided himself. Laila was sitting there in her pajamas, rubbing lotion into her legs. Somehow, these little touches made the whole upheaval he was experiencing worth it. To be able to take the lotion from her and work it into her skin himself, ah, that was bliss. Once the lotion had been smoothed away, he left to change into what he wore for pajamas. He went shirtless, a pair of flannel pajama pants tied around his waist. Laila was sitting up, reading a book. Horatio remembered the time he had come over to find her reading a book on forensics. She had tried to get rid of it by flinging it halfway across the room. Horatio had retrieved it, then told her if she had any questions he would be glad to answer them. He joined her, grabbing what he was currently reading off of his nightstand. Finally, he felt his eyelids begin to droop, and Laila must have as well. Soon both lamps had been turned off, and he had her pulled over to him._  
_

"Good night, Horatio." She whispered, letting her head fall onto the pillow. He could never have asked for anything more, to know that someone cared about him enough to wish him a good night.

"Good night, Laila."

* * *

**And so it begins again! Please leave your reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Laila found herself clicking through hotel rates when she should have been working. Another window was devoted to ticket prices, and still another to rental cars. It wasn't that her parents couldn't do this on their own, it was just that they were horrible with technology. Having a meeting later in the day didn't prevent her from trying to organize her parent's trip down. She wrote down the best rates she could find, then exited out of her computer. Later she would email them. Her small chore done, she grabbed the laptop and headed out to the balcony.

Horatio had left that morning, eating a English muffin. Laila had watched him leave. She had stopped him on his way out with a kiss, telling him that she would bring more of his stuff over. When they had begun the whole process he had given her the key to his apartment, and she had gotten a duplicate made of hers. Her trip to Horatio's could wait until her lunch meeting was over. Said meeting was to begin developing an advertisement for a local real estate company. She began to get dressed, pulling on a black blazer and pencil skirt. She did enjoy this newfound field of consulting.

With her experience in advertising, companies were willing to pay her money to examine their advertisements and get her opinion. Her opinion came at a flat fee, her help in fixing ads came at a variable expense. She wouldn't charge a small company the amount that a large one had to pay. Laila also altered her pay on wether or not the people she was helping were nice. Some bosses were kind to their employees, others ruled with an iron fist. All of those variables were taken into account.

Her outfit assembled, makeup perfected, and jewlery in place, she left for the meeting.

* * *

Horatio Caine hated to see a young woman murdered. All too often he had found himself standing over a cooling body, trying to fit the puzzle pieces of the murder together. He was disgusted with what went on, but it would have been worse to not give the girl justice. He looked out from the club, out over the Calder Race Course. The grass had been torn up from the hooves of the racehorses, and the afternoon sun reflected off the lake that had been dug in the infield. He bit his cheek, then turned back to the girl.

"What have we got Alexx?" He asked, avoiding the blood pool. The victim, Patrice Evans, lay on the ground, the short skirt of her dress hiking up far enough for most of the male CSI's to look away.

"Multiple stab wounds, death by exsanguination. All wounds in the back, baby didn't even know what hit her." Alexx smoothed the girls black hair away from her forehead. The racetrack's Turf Club had been cleared out so they could work. Eric was interviewing all the witnesses outside, Wolfe was making his way around taking pictures, and Calleigh was checking the bar for any missing implements.

"H, we've got a time of attack." Eric came walking back in, "Witnesses say that she was attacked during the $3000 claim race at eleven. The whole room went into a panic and her attacker slipped out."

"So we have a time, do we have a motive?" Horatio asked, turning to Eric.

"Apparently the race was won by her horse. A Dancer's Fancy." Eric extended a racing program to him. The horse's name had been circled multiple times. Horatio was examining it with gloved hands when an officer stepped in.

"Lieutenant Caine, I've got something you need to see." The officer said, gesturing for him to follow. Horatio gave orders for Eric and Wolfe to process the scene, while Calleigh was to come with him. The officer led them back through a service elevator before heading out to the stables. The barns were short, in desperate need of a new coat of paint, and had horse droppings piled up against a wall. From what H could tell each one was dedicated to a separate owner. Outside each one was a staging area for trucks, a rack for washing the horses. The officer stopped at a certain one, then gestured for them to look. A young Latino man lay inside, a gunshot having ripped through his temple. Calleigh had just stepped inside to try and determine what caliber the gun was when a race track employee ran up. He was covered in dirt and he smelled of something Horatio could only place as some kind of alcohol.

"What's happening? I thought all this shit was happening up at the track." The man had a cowboy's gruff demeanor to go with the impressive mustache he was sporting. "Is that Felipe?"

"Sir, who are you?" The officer stopped him before he could go any closer.

"Darren Sawyer, I run the Chesterfield stables here." He said that like it was supposed to mean something. "Everyone back here runs an outfit."

"And whose outfit did Felipe run?" Horatio asked, stepping closer to the man.

"The Evans'. Hey, where'd the horse go?" Darren was looking over Horatio's shoulder, not easy when Horatio was six foot and this man would be lucky to reach five eight. Horatio suspected the man must have rode bulls, maybe even some horses.

"Horse?" Horatio turned around to look at the stables. Each stall had a very curious horse poking its head out, all except for two. One Horatio assumed was filled with equipment, but the other should have had a horse.

"Yeah, Patrice's Present. Hell of a filly. Ran five furlongs in forty-nine seconds." Darren replied, cocking his head. Horatio looked around, spotting tire tracks on the ground. They looked fresh, whatever was here must have just left. Beside them were hoof prints that stopped all of a sudden. Twin drag marks went from the tire tracks to the stall, Felipe's dead weigh erasing any footprints from their suspect. Calleigh came back out, the bullet was still lodged in Felipe's brain.

"Mr. Sawyer, did you hear anything?" Horatio asked. The man's eyes flicked from side to side, the whites flashing.

"No, just normal stuff. Trucks come and go all the time, I didn't notice it."

"Well, he must have used a silencer. Combined with ambient noise that would have been enough to cover a gunshot." Calleigh shook her head. "Horatio, what do we have?" She asked, stripping her latex gloves.

"A murder to cover up a theft." Horatio intoned, pulling on his sunglasses. This case was going to be an interesting one, he could just tell. The bodies were loaded, the evidence was placed in manila envelopes with their information written on them, cameras had their film cards taken to a laptop and uploaded to the Crime Lab database, and the investigators finally got into the Hummers and drove off.

* * *

"Hello, you must be Miss Collins." The aging gentleman stood up to shake Laila's hand. He was dressed to the nines, suit and tie all perfectly in place. She smiled, nodding. They were meeting in an Italian restaurant, secluded in a booth towards the back of the place. Another man sat with him, and an iPad rested on the table. The other man wore jeans and tee shirt, a very high dollar tee shirt. He did not deign to shake her hand.

"Yes, and it certainly is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Gibson." Laila said as she sat down, reaching for the water already set out on the table. She glanced up through her lashes at the other man.

"Please, call me Carl. This here is my son, Richard." Carl gestured towards the other man. Richard looked like he would rather be doing anything than sitting right here. The Gibsons owned a couple clubs in South Beach, and had hired her to examine their advertisement campaign for their newest one. Based after the famous Green Mill of Chicago, The Speak was going to feature a live jazz band every night, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the wait staff was decorated with enough feathers a peacock would consider it gaudy. In short, they were trying to make a classy version of the 20's.

What Laila found when Gibson set the iPad in front of her was a mess.

The ads featured women in short skirts toasting a lone trombone player, lit by bright lights. The girls looked like all this ecstasy they were supposed to be feeling would be finished the moment they stepped off camera. The trombone player, a young black man, actually seemed to be enjoying it. The curtains cast a slight shade around him, a bit of mystery. Another had the band watching attentively as their lead singer danced her way around in a skimpy red dress. The type was huge, far too solid, and bright red of all things. All the class they had been going for, the sophistication, was lost. This was merely another Miami club, short skirts and a short lifespan. After examining them critically, Laila set the iPad aside.

"Well, what do you think?" Carl asked, looking at her eagerly. He reminded Laila of a puppy, hoping for any good news. "I'll have you know Richard designed those himself." _Yeah, that explains it. _Laila thought over her words for a minute before speaking._  
_

"You want this to be the hottest club on South Beach, right?"

"Of course."

"But you want this club to stay on, become a go-to spot for tourists and spring breakers, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then we will have to change a few things. If you will allow me, I can outline a few basic changes that would work. I could also take over the production of the ads for a fee." Laila gave her most charming smile here. "I won't lie to Carl, this place has potential. But you have to go for something other than a hot club. Any club can sell themselves as having hot women and booze. But the Speakeasy, you want it to be like stepping back in time."

"Yes. That's exactly what I had in mind when I told Richard the idea." Carl had leaned back, steepling his fingers. "I will of course pay your fee, but if you could outline the changes right now that would be helpful. The club opens in a week, we don't have much time to reshoot everything."

"Wonderful!" Laila exclaimed, clapping her hands slightly. "Here's the first thing. This ad with the trombone player? I love the guy, lose the girls and dim the lighting. And the type, we need to class it up. Make it more flowing, let some of the background through. Oh, and make it gold. Don't plaster it everywhere." Laila had pulled a pen and paper from her purse and was quickly sketching the new ad. A lone figure blew on his trombone, a few lines showed a spotlight highlighting him. The curtains Laila knew were green, better to show the gold.

"Our photographer can have the shot to you today, if you'd like." Carl said, glancing to her sketch.

"That would be perfect. I can get one of my friends to tone the lighting down and superimpose the type." Laila replied, already sending an email off to Sheri. Sheri had been a designer at GlobalGraphics, and when the company broke up she had gone to another company. She was always willing to do a little side project for Laila though, after proper compensation. The rest of the meeting passed pleasantly, she would email Carl her fee, along with her request for tickets to the opening, but it was a very productive lunch, aside from Richard sending her a glare over his linguini. She had shifted her eyebrows up and blinked, and he had returned to staring at his pasta. When she got up to leave, he did as well.

"I'm just going to walk her out, alright Dad?" His voice was too perfectly pitched, too caring. The same voice a child uses to convince their parents that they didn't have anything in their pockets. Just like a naughty kid, the second his father was out of earshot he turned on her. "Who do you think you are? I'm Richard Gibson, I run South Beach. My father doesn't even know what his clubs are like. I run every single one."

"Really, I find that very hard to believe." Laila began, readying a finger to poke into his chest. "First of all, everyone knows you just go the clubs to get wasted. Second, those advertisements you made were crap. All flash, no substance."

"You really think substance will draw people in?" Richard laughed, circling her. "All they want is some tequila to drink and a girl to grind on. You don't know a thing, and you know what, I'm going to let that be your downfall. I'll stay out of the whole thing, just you and Dad." He was face to face with her now. "And I will laugh when it all comes down." He seemed to bite off each word, spitting them at her. Laila held her tongue, meeting his gaze. His eyes flicked away, back towards the dining room. His attention diverted, Laila stepped around him and left.

If Laila didn't know Miami in November, she would have sworn her anger had brought the storm. The wind was whipping through the streets, scourging the trees and gnashing through clothes to chill skin. Dark thunderheads were rolling in, turning the sky as gray as the sidewalk. Everything here pointed towards a storm, and frankly Laila was glad. Let the storm come, it would wash everything away. She had no issue driving to Horatio's apartment as lightning cut through the sky, electric fingers curling around clouds.

There wasn't much left, a box of books that wouldn't fit in the car yesterday and his picture of Raymond. She lifted in her hands, looking at the man beside Horatio. His short brown hair didn't move much in the breeze, while Horatio's was flying everywhere. The smile he wore seemed a little too forced, as if he was hiding something. His eyes though, she knew those eyes well. What she didn't know was the harshness to them, the anger that was apparent even when they were just dots of ink.

She shook her head, placing the picture frame in the box. As she settled it in the trunk, she felt the first fat drop of rain hit her head. It was a mad dash to the driver's seat, hopefully arriving before the downpour started. Luckily it began just as she was buckling herself in, drumming down her hood. Truthfully, driving in the rain didn't bother her much. A blizzard, now that was worse. She decided to begin the drive to her place, staying off the freeways. With so many snowbirds flocking down, the highways seemed to have a maximum speed of ten miles an hour. Surface streets were actually quicker, despite the stoplights. It took longer than she was used to, but she finally reached her building. The rain was really coming down, puddles already forming in the low spots of the parking lot.

Truthfully, there wasn't much for her to do once she got back. She emailed her mother the prices for the room, hotel, and car. She and Sheri talked over a video connection for a bit, discussing what had been going on for both of them and the pictures. Laila emailed the photos that Mr. Gibson had sent, along with some reference photos from a new version of _The Great Gatsby_ and _Boardwalk Empire_. If they wanted a speakeasy, they were going to get one.

* * *

Horatio Caine had made it quite clear that his job occasionally required him to work late. Sometimes he was able to text Laila, telling her that he would be home late or to leave him some dinner in the oven. Other times he had arrived to find her passed out on the couch, obviously waiting for him. Tonight though, he hadn't been able to text her but it his work at the lab didn't take as long as he'd thought. He parked the Hummer, then pulled his jacket over his head as he ran for the entrance. He wasn't the only one racing home, the elevator held five others, all standing in silence as the elevator dinged out the floors. It was just a quick jangle of his keys once he got off, and he was home.

"Laila?" Horatio called out, noting that all the lights were off. The curtain to the balcony was blowing in though. He swept it aside, finding Laila sitting in one of the patio chairs that occupied the balcony. An abandoned book sat in front of her as she looked out at the sea. It was swirling, white foam spraying into the wind. Everything was moving, dancing in the wind under the silver light of the moon. He eased himself down into the other chair. For a time, they didn't even say anything. They just sat there, two people watching a cleansing storm sweep through Miami. He hardly even noticed when Laila stood, coming back with a picture frame in her hands.

"Here," she said, "you pick where Raymond goes." She held out the frame to him, gesturing to the inside. Horatio took it, gently carrying the photo. The brass frame had dulled during the years, but he wasn't quite sure where to put it. He cast his eyes around the apartment, going past their little library, the kitchen, the living room. He could put it in one of the bookcases. A few pictures were already placed there. One featured him and his team outside the Crime Lab, another showed him and Laila on El Dia De Los Muertos. But they were the present, and Raymond wasn't. Finally, he saw the entryway. A table stood just before it, where he left his gun and badge each night. It had just enough room on it for the frame. Horatio may have left his old apartment, but that didn't mean he had to change his ways. He had let Raymond watch over his badge and gun before, and he would let him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Beware of some salty language later in the chapter. I know some people who run horses at Turf Paradise, and they don't speak like they're in a PG movie.**

* * *

God, airports were crazy. Laila had to avoid crowds of tourists, businessmen, and employees as she searched for a seat near the baggage claim. The Speak opened next Thursday, but her parents were still coming for Thanksgiving, that had to be her priority. She knew how to make a turkey, mashed potatoes, almost everything she would need. _Maybe Horatio has some old family recipes_. She shifted her feet out of the way of a baggage cart. Her parents had taken the rates she had sent them and ran with it. The rental car was waiting at the hotel, she would drive them over. Her parents were sure to be cranky. Hours in the air, first from Des Moines International Airport to Indianapolis and from there to Miami International. She would be surprised if her father hadn't had a fight with her mother already. They loved each other, she knew that, but sometimes they would fight about the stupidest things.

"Now arriving, American Eagle Flight 3571 from Indianapolis." A English accented automated voice rang out. Well, they had landed. Soon enough Jeff would be making his way down, his typical attire of a shirt buttoned up to the collar, jeans, belt and boots out of place in Miami. Her mother, well it might be better. A sundress, or at the worst, a pants suit. Laila shuddered at the mental image, instead dusting her already clean hands off on the cotton skirt of the dress she was wearing. In Miami, you rarely had to change your wardrobe. Her breezy white dress would have been drastically out of place back in Conger, but here no one payed a second look. She adjusted the white headband that held back her blonde hair and scanned the crowd that was slowly coming down the stairs from the concourse. Most of them seemed to be tourists or snowbirds in tropical shirts loud enough to deafen your eyes, and Laila didn't even know if that was possible. Catching sight of a close shaved brown haired head coming down she waved her hands in the air. Jeff, that lovable guard dog that was her father, quickly pulled away from the crown. She caught sight of Denice's black hair trailing behind him.

"Kiddo! It's been too long." He growled, pulling her up off the ground. Laila laughed, just inhaling the scent of fall leaves and rich earth that her father seemed to carry with him everywhere he went. "How are you?"

"I'm great, Dad." She said, kissing his cheek. There was some definitive stubble on his cheek, but otherwise he appeared hale and hearty. He quickly let her down, grouching slightly about a tweaked back. Laila leaned down to greet her mother, she was much shorter. Truth be told Laila would surprised if her mother had ever topped 5"5'. Her mother possessed practically everything that Laila didn't Her features were rounded instead of angled, she was short instead of tall, and she possessed an abundance of the female attributes where Laila had always had to content herself with an A cup.

"Mom, it's wonderful to see you." She whispered, kissing her cheek. Denice wasn't a bad mother, she had just wanted things for Laila that Laila didn't want. It even began with her name, they had chosen it because they had thought she would have Denice's black hair and Laila meant 'Dark Beauty'. Her mother had been slightly put out when it was apparent that her hair would turn blonde. Laila hadn't cared, she liked her name.

"Lord in Heaven, it's good to see you too." Denice hugged her, "You've gotten even taller." Laila sometimes felt like her mother expected things from her that she couldn't give. Her mother had wanted her to do beauty pageants when she was a kid, a leftover from her Georgia heritage. Laila had talked to her father about youth football, softball, anything physical. She had shown cattle instead of being rodeo queen. She was happier shoveling manure than shopping. Time away from her mother's insistence of practice in the feminine arts had lessened it. Now Laila liked shopping for clothes, she took pride in being clean and professional. Her mother's intensity had made it undesirable, something that just turned her off.

"You say that every time you see me, Mom." Laila replied. Denice smiled, then shifted her gaze to the baggage carousel. Sure enough, bag were beginning to circulate. Jeff grabbed two large suitcases, easily able to hold enough for one week of vacation, maybe more. "You guys must be staying for longer than I thought."

"Yes, two weeks! We figured we'd stay for Thanksgiving and then a little while afterward." Denice seemed to be happy about the trip. Laila shrugged her shoulders, if they wanted to stay longer then they could. It was the season for large family get togethers. Her mother clapped her hands. "Now where is this Lieutenant Caine? Where is he?" Denice turned, flipping her hair into Laila's face. She blew it out before answering.

"He had to be at work, but you'll meet him later tonight."

* * *

Sometimes Horatio felt that cases moved to slow. It seemed that they were always a step behind, losing ground as the killers raced on ahead. Other times, the cases moved to quick. They let go of a suspect, only for them to commit another crime. Crucial evidence was looked over, and they had to spend more time going back than they would have doing it right the first time. It had been four days since the racetrack murders, and they had little to go off of. Darren had willingly told them all he knew, and was going to pass along any information that cropped up at the racetrack. So far, they knew that a racehorse had been stolen. Said racehorse was a very good one, but that was it. The Evans' had no enemies in the barns, but Darren had pointed out several outfits that had been beaten by Patrice's Present.

Horatio had interviewed their stable heads, and each had replied in the same vein. They may have been beaten by the Evans' horse, but they wouldn't steal her. The heads of their outfits had been harder to get to. Tripp had been going after them with his usual bull-doggedness, but even he could only get so far. Most of the owners suddenly seemed to be swamped with meetings and trips out of state. Horatio reviewed the file again before rubbing his temples. It was a welcome distraction when his phone rang.

"Lieutenant Caine?" A voice asked, Darren from the track.

"Yes, what is it?"

"You might want to get down to the track. I think I just spotted Patrice's Present."

"I'll be there in half an hour, can you hold them?"

"I can try, get the vet to test her for drugs, call in her papers. I'll stall but you need to hurry." With a click, Darren hung up. Horatio was quickly behind the wheel of the Hummer, Wolfe by his side. Two Miami-Dade patrol cars accompanied them, one in front and one behind. Horatio had decided that he liked the gruff little cowboy. He reminded him of both Tripp and a Chihuahua. Darren kept after something, but his bark was worse than his bite. In fact it had been Darren to get the grooms into talk. Horatio wasn't sure if he was helping because Felipe had been killed or if that's just how he was. He was thankful either way. The track seemed to be extra crowded that day, the parking lot full to the brim. The officers managed to find places to park and followed him and Wolfe as they flashed their badges and made their way to the paddock. The paddock was beginning to resemble a wrestling arena. Darren was face to face with a man in a business suit, both screaming obscenities at the other.

"Who the fuck are you to tell me my horse can't run! I bought the goddamn bitch, she's going to run!" The suited man yelled, fisting his hands in Darren's shirt. The small cowboy jerked back, a finger flying up accusingly.

"You motherfucker, you've been doping! I'm not telling you she can't run, the goddamn vet is!" Darren yelled back. Horatio quickly inserted himself between the two of them, placing a hand on each of their chests and forcing them back.

"Gentlemen, please." He said, trying to insert a calm authoritative presence. "What's going on?"

"This asshole," The man began, cutting off when he saw Horatio's glare from behind his sunglasses. "He goes on and tries for every little test he can find. Like he thinks I'm going to cheat-"

"It's not thinking if it's true!" Darren interjected, drawing a rush of whispers from the growing crowd. Horatio cocked his head, nonverbally telling Darren to be quiet for a moment.

"Continue."

"Well he calls for a urine test, and then he calls for a re-weigh of the jockeys, and then he calls for her registration papers to be brought up. And then all of a sudden the vet comes over, and she's telling me my horse has Ritalin in her system." The man shook his head. "I don't dope, especially not at the track."

"And you are?" Horatio asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ethan Day, I run a few horses."

"Well Mr. Day, I am Lieutenant Horatio Caine. Darren was only doing what I asked him to, you see your horse could be stolen property." Horatio said calmly, looking over toward the stalls. A brown horse stood there, her purple silks trailing down her back. A similarly dressed jockey stood by her. "Now Darren, is there a definitive way to see if this is Patrice's Present?"

"Yeah, just got to check her tat." The cowboy nodded. He walked right up to the horse, took the reins from a stunned groom and pulled her lip upwards. A clear line of green characters was printed on the fleshy pink underside. "It's Patrice alright, not this Desert Rose shit he was trying to pull."

"You've got to believe me, I had no idea. My trainer just came and told me she had a new horse. Said the papers were legit and everything." Ethan put up his hands. "I wouldn't run her if she was stolen."

"Right now, you're coming with me." Horatio told him, "Mister Wolfe, radio back for a truck and trailer. Patrice is coming with us." He turned back to Ethan. "Now, you are going to turn over all your papers on this animal, and the number of your trainer." Ethan tried to bluster his way out of everything, but he quickly complied when Horatio brought up staying in a holding cell. Soon a police truck was pulling up, a two horse trailer behind it. Patrice's Present was loaded, and any personnel who had been involved in Darren's little inquest was brought along.

Thankfully, the Miami-Dade police department had a stable so Patrice would have somewhere to live for the meantime. As she was being unloaded by a few mounted officers a dirty pickup truck came roaring into the lot. With a slam of the driver's side door, Ethan's trainer came around. Horatio had seen some strange people in his day, but he had never seen someone quite like Shanique Turner. A tall black woman, she was wearing enough rhinestones to blind someone. Her head was shaved, a straw cowboy hat shading her. If he had seen her, without knowing who she was, he would never have pegged her for a racehorse trainer. She was quickly intercepted by an officer and directed to one of their interview rooms.

_Today was going to be a long day_.

"Why exactly am I in here?" Shanique asked as he walked in. The honeycombed screens over the windows kept the glare out, but it did give the distinct impression of walking through honey.

"Because your 'Desert Rose' is not your horse." Horatio set the file down in front of Shanique. He flipped it open to a picture of Patrice Evans, lying pale and unmoving on Alexx's autopsy table. "She is Patrice's Present, and she belonged to Patrice Evans who was murdered to cover up the theft of the horse." Horatio glanced to see Shanique flinching from the picture. There was a guilty cast around here eyes.

"Listen, I didn't know." She began, "I got a call from a friend, saying that he had seen this great horse at some match race out by the Glades. Said the guy was willing to sell. Wanted twenty grand, cash. I showed up with a trailer, the guy gives me the papers and the horse, I give him the cash and we both go our separate ways." Shanique shook her head. "I just wanted a win, I needed some extra cash."

"Extra?" Horatio asked, squinting at her. His crow's feet may have showed but he didn't care much at this point. All he cared about was catching the killer

"I wanted to get into this new club that's opening up on South Beach. The Speak." Shanique dug in the leather purse she had brought in. She pulled out a piece of high quality photo paper, then slid it to him. A single black singer was standing profile, the microphone stretching up almost like a natural extension. Her hands were caressing it like a lover, the green curtains behind her a dark contrast to the silver of the microphone. Gold letters behind the singer proclaimed The Speak, with an address, phone number, and opening date. _That's Laila's club. Must be getting popular. _"Guy said that for twenty large I'd get the horse, and a VIP pass to the opening. Little bastard ran off before I got the pass."

"Do you remember the man who sold you the horse?"

"No, had a ball cap pulled down over his face, sunglasses, all the works."

"And this didn't strike you as suspicious?"

"Some people at the match races don't want to be recognized." Shanique laughed, "High dollar boys don't want to be connected to an illegal track." _Illegal activity, that would certainly make some waves if it went public._

"So, is there any answer for the Ritalin in the horse's system?" That detail still bothered Horatio, a strange drug to find in a horse.

"They use it at those match races, get the horse all hyped up and nervous before they let 'em loose. They run faster." Shanique shrugged. "Can I go?" She asked, grabbing her purse from the floor.

"As soon as you tell Detective Tripp where these races are." Horatio said, holding the door open for Frank. The detective would take a few patrol cars down there, bust the place, and see what they could dig up about their mystery man.

* * *

Laila was trying to get ready, finish the ads for The Speak, track down Horatio, and tell her parents where the restaurant was all at the same time. Frankly she was surprised that she hadn't gone insane yet. She gave her mother an address, hung up, then texted Horatio. He replied quickly, saying that he would be late. Only ten minutes, but still. To her mother that was a social faux pas on level with loudly slurping soup. She shifted around the apartment, watching a piece on the news. They, meaning her and Sheri, had organized a flash mob of dancers and musicians. They had danced to the tunes of the Jazz Age, swinging around faster and faster for the crowd. Old love songs had been sung, two performers had done the Charleston, and there had been quite a mass of people around to watch. Finally they had thrown out fliers to the crowd as they left. It had been a successful day with the added bonus of media coverage and videos being uploaded across the internet, but right now Laila was trying to calm herself by reading when Horatio finally came in.

"Oh thank God." She whispered, "I was getting slightly worried." God how she loved that bright red shock of hair, how it always seemed a little blown back. The lines across his face seemed a little lighter, the bags under his eyes a little smaller. Being together really did seem to help him, having someone around who cared and was willing to listen. Horatio didn't even have to talk, half the time when he was stressed they'd merely sit by each other. The little nuances of everyday life, the slight _shush_ of pages being turned seemed to calm him. And her.

"Worried?" Horatio asked, removing his sunglasses from his pocket. He set them on the entryway table, watching as Laila stood up. She self-conciously smoother her shirt down, glad that she had gone casual for tonight.

"Just part of stressing out." Laila said. "Parents, work, all that jazz." She stepped up to him and threw her arms around him. She felt him start for a second before he embraced her. Laila felt him whispering, soft puffs of breath tickling her ears.

"I know, sweetheart. It will be alright." He told her, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Are you ready for dinner?" Laila smirked into his chest, letting the smell of his cologne roll over her. He was right, she was worrying over nothing. Horatio would meet her parents, probably butt heads with Jeff, be interrogated by Denice, and then it would be over. She could tell them everything that she had been doing in Miami, all the people she had worked with. The first meeting would be the worst, but then they might actually begin to like him.

Well, she could hope.


	4. Chapter 4

Horatio Caine realized that he liked driving, especially when he could drive himself. It wasn't that Laila was a bad driver, just slightly erratic. She made the blue Mustang weave through the other cars, a brightly colored fish darting through the drab school. He made sure to hold onto the door handle while they talked over the radio. It was currently blasting a local country station.

"So, I've got a question for you." Horatio said, turning the radio down. "Who exactly could get a VIP pass into The Speak?" He saw Laila's brow furrow, and she quickly merged into another lane. Horatio tightened his grip.

"Well, the employees won't have them. I think Carl gave a few to the band, but Carl and Richard could give them out to anyone." Laila pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant they were meeting her parents at. "Why?" She asked, turning the car off. Horatio popped the door, standing to his full height. Her head appeared above the roof, blonde hair swinging.

"We've got a case where a woman was bribed with a pass for opening night." Horatio was loathe to reveal details about a case, but he figured that Laila wouldn't say anything and she was close to part of the case. They could wait, they were going to head in with her parents and they weren't here yet.

"Well, she didn't get ours." She quipped.

"Ours?"

"I negotiated a pair into my payment, we'll be guests of honor on the opening night of The Speak." Laila walked up to him, placing her hands on the side of his jacket. Her face was hopeful, a look of content in her eyes.

"I don't really go clubbing." He told her, grabbing her hands gently.

"That's what great about The Speak. It's more a place to go hang out, get a few drinks, do a little dancing, and just have a good night." Laila lifted herself up higher. "I know you, and I think you'll love it." She suddenly turned, waving to a car that was pulling in. That must be her parents, but it was hard to tell when there was a silver SUV blocking his view. They quickly got out of the SUV though, and he got his first good look at them.

Her father was tall, barrel chested and he looked like he had played football in his earlier years. When he saw Horatio, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His wife was short, with long dark hair flowing down her back. Horatio attempted a small smile, she returned it. There was a sense of suspicion around her though, as if she wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

"Mom, Dad, this is Horatio." Laila said, stepping forward. "Horatio these are my parents, Jeff and Denice Collins." Horatio held out a hand, shaking Denice's lightly. Jeff's grip was firm, a glint to his eyes. Horatio made sure to grip his hand tightly and not break away from his gaze.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Horatio." Denice said, "That is a rather odd name if you don't mind me saying." Horatio could feel Laila's hand tense, and he was quick to speak before she could.

"My parents named me after Horatio Alger, the author. You know, _Gone are all my hours of pleasure, Vanished with my vanished pleasure; for a deathly shadow fell_." It all came back to him quickly, how his mother had sat down and repeated the little fragment to him. It was one of the few good childhood memories that he had. He thought the snippet had almost framed his life, but now he seemed to be gaining a little of that pleasure back.

"Hmm, well let's not stand outside wagging our tongues." Jeff said, gesturing for them to head inside. They had decided on a casual place, a sushi bar that their concierge had recommended. The place had a close feeling to it, as if everyone inside might get rolled into one of the sushi orders. Laila hoped they liked the place, the last time she had been back they had gone to a sub par place in Des Moines. Hopefully fresh seafood would make all the difference. Their waiter quickly showed them to their table and took their drink orders. The silence hung thick between them as they perused the menus. Finally Denice set hers down, then fixed Horatio with a smile.

"So, you'll be joining us for Thanksgiving dinner I take it?" She asked.

"I plan to, but my work does demand me to miss holidays occasionally." He responded, sipping the beer that their waiter had brought.

"Ah, yes. Your work. What exactly do you do for the police department?"

"I'm the head of the Crime Lab." Horatio stated simply, eying the beer again.

"Crime lab?" Jeff asked, "Never heard of that."

"We use science to examine evidence and determine how a crime was committed." Horatio explained. He saw Laila smile out of the corner of his eye.

"So you have a degree in science then?" Denice asked, "I myself have one in culinary arts."

"Not exactly, I studied at NYU and got a Bachelor's in criminology." Horatio could still remember his college years, what little there were. He had managed to attend college and care for his brother at the same time, not exactly an ideal situation.

"He's very good at what he does." Laila interjected. Her hand found his beer and poured some into a glass. With finesse she poured herself of shot of sake and completed her sake bomber.

"You shouldn't drink like that." Denice told her, shifting her attention. "But I guess that's how you found each other. In a bar."

"There's nothing wrong with a little celebratory drink." Laila smiled, "You just don't like doing it in public." Horatio looked over, Laila seemed to be trying to piss her mother off. He reached under the table and patted one of her hands. She looked up and he shook his head.

"Laila Marie Collins, I-"

"Denice, let it go." Jeff shot at her, "She's thirty-four, she can drink if she wants." Ignoring Denice's spluttering he turned to Horatio. "You said your work makes you miss holidays, why?"

"If someone finds a body, or a crime is committed I will be called in if my team can't handle it." Horatio said, immensely glad when the waiter showed back up to take their order. He noticed that Laila ordered a few of the more exotic rolls while her parents went for something safer. He would split Laila's order. Denice seemed to find this a perfect time to continue her questioning.

"And that would make you miss Thanksgiving?"

"My first duty is to Miami's citizens." Horatio felt proud saying that, knowing that it was true. If he could prevent someone's death, he would miss Thanksgiving. Compared to a life, missing a holiday wasn't that large of a sacrifice.

"Will your parents be joining us?" Denice seemed to be trying to find out as much as she could. Horatio mentally flinched at her question, and decided to carefully chose his words. This could get ugly, and fast.

"My, my parents are no longer with us." He spoke slowly. Something in his manner must have struck Denice because she dropped that line of question for a new one.

"What about a Thanksgiving service?" She asked, "Does your minister hold one, Laila?" Horatio saw Laila blanch and reach for her drink. He felt awkward himself. They had never really discussed religion. He had seen Laila take part in a Catholic festival, read Hindu myths, and had never once asked her what her affiliation was. While he had been baptized Catholic, he only visited the church when Laila couldn't take away his guilt. Sundays he either worked or joined Laila in whatever she was doing. The silence only grew as their waiter dropped off their order.

"I actually don't go to church, Mom." Laila said haltingly. Horatio saw a tic begin in Denice's forehead, and then suddenly she was staring at him.

"Well, I'm certain Horatio knows of one."

"I believe there's a Mass at St. Augustine's." He told her, snagging a piece of a Spicy Tuna roll.

"Catholic? A Catholic church?" Denice almost seemed to hyperventilate, her face turning pale under her makeup. Laila suddenly grabbed her, mumbling an excuse about using the restroom and left the table. Horatio and Jeff eyed each other over sushi, both of them suddenly finding the rolls very interesting.

* * *

"Laila, I always knew Florida would change you." Denice sobbed, holding onto the bathroom sink. Laila had locked the door, glad that it was just a room. "I just didn't know how much." God, she hated to see her mother like this. She had hoped Denice would have gotten over her changes, but apparently she hadn't.

"Mom, it hasn't changed me so much as allowed me to ..." Laila couldn't find the word. "Just be myself I guess."

"But a Catholic, and we've been Methodist for generations." Her mother had apparently realized that crying would ruin her makeup because she was standing up to fix her makeup. Laila loved her mother despite her faults, but all to often they butted heads over issues.

"So? You know I never liked church." Laila shrugged her shoulders. She remembered the church back home, filled with people who either didn't want to be there or were so enthusiastic that it bordered on obsession. It was expected that everyone attend church, and you were sure to receive a 'social call' from some matron who would politely chew you out for your lax attitude. "Plus, no one cares down here."

"I should never have let you leave Iowa." Denice choked out. "You've forgotten that you come from respectable stock. Our name means something in Conger!"

"Well it doesn't mean anything in Miami." Laila retorted, "Can't you just be happy for me? Is that so hard for you?" She felt everything she wanted to say to her mother bubbling over, spilling out of her. "Is your status as the most respected woman in Conger worth alienating your only daughter? You want to know why I left, Mom? Aside from the scholarship from the University of Miami?

I wanted to get out of Conger. I hated how everyone judged you, how you knew everyone was talking about you behind your back. When I came here, no one cared. I got to go out whenever I want, eat whatever I want, and date whoever I want without someone seeing me and going 'why were you out with Joey at the Italian place around midnight?'. I didn't have to be judged by anyone anymore. I wanted my life, not the life that Conger would have given me." Laila leaned against the tiled wall, enjoying the coolness.

"Did you really feel that way?" Denice asked, her voice quavering.

"Yeah, I did." Laila rubbed at her eyes, cursing her emotions at the moment.

"I-I'm sorry." Denice said, "I do want you to be happy. I don't want you to think that I don't love you. I do love you." Laila flung herself into her mother's arms.

"I love you too." She told her, being careful not to choke her mother. These fights had happened before, and they would happen again. Laila thought it was best to get it out of the way quickly, and they could hopefully have a nice, peaceful Thanksgiving. She knew when her mother went back to Conger she would brag to the other mothers of the town, saying that her daughter was making huge sums of money in the thriving port city of Miami and was dating a police Lieutenant. She could hear the women begin to whisper, tittering at Denice's stories while their acidic tongues talked about the wayward daughter that had left. Laila was glad to be rid of those busybodies, who had nothing better to do in their own lives than obsess about others'.

Their issues settled, she unlocked the door only to be greeted by a small line of women waiting for the restroom.

* * *

Horatio tried using his chopsticks to grab just a bit of wasabi for his sushi, but they only seemed to be picking up a large lump. He liked a small kick of the sauce, not an overwhelming taste. He looked over to see Laila and Denice walking back, apparently in a much better mood. Denice's eyes were red, apparently they had cried a little. They seemed to be getting along though, he could hear them planning a spa day for Monday.

"Sorry about that, the line was unbelievable." Laila said, sliding back into the booth they were sharing. Horatio cocked his head, his smirk coming back. He would get it out of her later, if she was willing. Unlike his suspects, he would never press her. The trust between them was different, something that had been based on willingly sharing their thoughts, and comforting the other.

Jeff didn't seem to care what had been going on. "You know a pickup game going on? We've got to have a Turkey Bowl for Thanksgiving." His voice was gruff, the voice of someone who had smoked for a few dozen years. Horatio wondered when he had quit, Jeff hadn't been twitching or looking like he needed a smoke. He was distracted when Laila shook her head, her hair flying out.

"There's a game going on that morning, just a fun morning for some officers and their family." Horatio spoke up. The game had been going on for a few years, just a small flag-football game that took place in Lummus Park. He had never been, but he had been told by others that it was fun.

"Nice. We'll be there." Jeff grunted, returning to trying to stab a runaway roll. Laila laughed, a small giggle instead of her usual full bodied laugh. The rest of the dinner passed without further incident. He found that after Denice had the crazy talked out of her, he liked Laila's mother. Denice cared about her daughter, and he could see how mother and daughter kept each other in check. Denice's love of image was balanced by Laila's nonchalance, while Laila's fiery temper was trained by Denice toward a less violent nature. Considering that he had seen her destroying a punching bag at her gym after a stressful day, he was thankful for that.

Jeff was different. Every father was protective of their child, but he figured Jeff was a unique case. Laila had told him a story about how she had gotten lost at a mall one time, only for Jeff to find her. He had apparently told her that if she was ever lost she should just scream loudly until someone found her. Horatio had laughed at that, imagining a six year old Laila yelling her lungs off at a Macy's salesman. But Laila had also told him how Jeff had pushed her, not demanding perfection but not letting her half-ass anything. Truth be told, she had talked more about him than Denice.

Considering how Laila seemed excited to play football with her father, it wasn't to hard to guess that she was a Daddy's girl.

He asked her about this once they got home, watching her take off her jewelry and remove her makeup. He was always struck by how everything she put on had its own place, and that she diligently returned everything. Earrings and necklaces to the jewelry box, makeup to its drawer, the multitude of brushed she had to their cases and boxes. _She probably had more brushes than the fingerprints department_.

"I guess I've always been that way. Just," Laila answered. "Just kinda a tomboy." Laila snorted, turning to wrap her hands around his neck. He could feel her kneading the muscles, a welcome sensation. "But I've grown a little. Realized that not everything about being a girl is so bad." With that she turned her ministrations to his shoulders, slipping out of his hands to draw him back to the bed. She had done this before, stripping him of coat and shirt so that she could untangle the many knots that made up his back. Every time she had done this, he had sighed in pleasure. Her hands seemed to know where he held the stress from his work. Sometimes it was painful, he'd arch his back and try to move away. Laila would just hold him still, working on that one spot until the pain faded.

"Thank you for tonight." He mumbled around the pillow he way laying on. "Your parents are..." He trailed off. _Weird, __different, not what I expected? _"Interesting."

"Thanks," Laila grunted, a hint of a laugh behind it. "Sorry about my Mom and the whole Catholic thing. She's from the South, it's very specific on what religions you can be in to be a part of high-society."

"Your mother is high-society?"

"Well, she had aspirations. She let them go when she met Jeff, deciding that she would bring the South to Conger, Iowa." Laila leaned over so that her mouth was next to his ear. "They were the talk of the town, little Jeffrey Collins leading Denice Fontaine down the aisle. Their two week honeymoon to California was apparently quite scandalous. After that, Jeff went back to working at a machine shop and Denice opened a bakery. That bakery is the center of Conger's gossip machine."

"Like I said," He told her, sitting up. Laila crawled back, hugging her knees. "Interesting." He could see the light in her eyes, the kind that wandered over everything and wouldn't stop looking until they had figured out what was happening. Apparently they were satisfied for the moment because she stood to gather up his discarded clothes, hanging the jacket and tossing his shirt into a hamper.

"I'll go by the dry cleaners tomorrow," She told him. "Considering I have a few other errands to run, plus going to the grocery store, it won't be a big deal." Horatio just watched as she went back to the bathroom, emerging in the tank top and yoga pants she wore as pajamas. With a soft sigh, she snuggled under the blankets. He drew back the comforter, smiling.

"You might want to get enough for five, I'm thinking of inviting Mr. Wolfe." He told her. The thought had occurred to him during the silent moments during dinner. The young CSI only had a few relatives around, and he hadn't mentioned going anywhere. Besides, Denice's prying into his family had caused him to reconsider what truly was family. Family were people you cared about, people that cared about you. Horatio didn't want Wolfe spending a holiday for family alone, which he explained to Laila. She seemed to take it all in stride, but he noticed her brow furrow.

"Are you sure? I thought this was just going to be us and my parents." She asked, now sitting. Horatio couldn't think of an answer to clarify his thinking so he merely nodded. "If he wants to, he can come."

"Thank you." He told her, drawing her close in an embrace. He felt her hands tighten on his back, and all of a sudden he found himself rolling onto his back as Laila began to straddle him, kissing her way down his neck.

Horatio found himself a little less worried than he had been.

* * *

**AN: So, here's my hectic Thanksgiving break. Went on break Wednesday, had Thanksgiving, went down to Tucson for the Duel in Desert where my Sun Devils managed to bring the Territorial Cup back to Tempe, went out to Turf Paradise and made a hundred bucks, and work on Sunday! **

**I'm sorry that I couldn't get this uploaded sooner, but you can understand how busy I was. **

**I want you guys to let me know what you think of the story, the characters, and if you want to see anything different. If you have ideas, just send me a message.**

**Or you could review, that works.**

**(was I subtle enough?)**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Alright, I figured I might want to lay down some form of a basic timeline. Horatio and Marisol dated, but they never married and were broken up when she was shot. He did go through and eradicate the Mala Noche. Natalia is just starting to work as a CSI while this is taking place.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Laila danced around her apartment, her chocolate muffin held in her hand. Some pop song was blasting out of her stereo, and she just couldn't sit. Everything was fine! She could see that her parents liked Horatio, and he liked them. Plus her advertisements were sweeping South Beach and the opening of The Speak was quickly becoming the place to be. She had received a call from Carl, praising her methods and telling her that he would recommend her to his business friends. He was also asking her to run his advertising department, but Laila had told him she would have to think about it. The freedom that came from running her own business was something she enjoyed, and she didn't want to lose it. It would hurt to refuse Carl, but she had to do it. She shook the thought out of her head, instead turning over Horatio's request from earlier that morning.

He had asked her to gather the band at The Speak. He said that Tripp and himself would be visiting the club to question all of the musicians and the singer, Carmen Hayes. That had certainly bugged the little pre-madonna, who had given Laila an earful when she had called her up. Laila had been adamant, saying that it was a police investigation and that it would be bad for her image if she didn't comply. The girl had steamed but she said that she'd be there. She had as much attitude as she had talent, but that was the deal when working with stars. There was little for Laila to do in the meantime, she had grabbed Horatio's shirts from the hamper and stuffed them into a laundry bag. It was only a quick drive to the dry cleaner she frequented. Horatio liked his shirts with extra starch, and Mrs. Kim was more than willing to oblige.

"Laila, honey! How you been?" Mrs. Kim came out from behind her counter to giver her a hug. The shop she ran was tiny, every single spare place devoted to clothing rods. Mrs. Kim herself was an older Korean woman, who Laila could pick up if she wanted to. Ever since Laila had begun to bring Horatio's shirts in she had considered her to be something like family. Laila didn't mind, she had gone out for coffee a few times with the woman and Mrs. Kim always had advice for whatever situation Laila was in. She liked the little woman, and she was glad to have a friend.

"Good, you?" She replied, squeezing the woman.

"Fine, fine. You got shirts for me?" Mrs. Kim asked, eyeing the bag.

"Yep, extra starch like always." Laila lifted the bag over onto the counter. The laminated counter had been scratched, chipped and beat on for years but it was still there. Mrs. Kim claimed that it was lucky, that it had been like that when she bought the place and she wasn't going to get rid of it. Now business cards from local business were plastered all over it, and pictures of Mrs. Kim with the business owners hung on the walls that weren't covered by clothing. Mrs. Kim was quite willing to do her laundry, and she assured Laila that the shirts would be ready on Saturday. Laila waved goodbye as she went back out to her car.

Why oh why did she save her grocery shopping for the day before Thanksgiving? She should have known better, usually she didn't venture outside the majority of Thanksgiving week. Now she'd be going out, multiple times during that period. Laila mentally bit off a string of curses that she had learned from her sailor grandfather when she saw the parking lot for the grocery store. Resigned to her fate, she parked and ventured in. She figured that it couldn't be too bad.

Well, she should have known she'd be wrong.

The store was packed tighter than she could have thought. It was an effort just to find a cart, and maneuvering it was a whole other deal. No matter how fast she tried to be, half the things she tried to get were either gone or picked over. Laila was throughly pissed off when she left, resisting the urge to peel out of her parking space was a mental battle. Sensibility won out in the end though as she drove the groceries home. Her fridge was packed to the gills, and she worried that when it was opened things would begin to fall out. She glanced to the clock on the microwave, it was about time to meet Horatio.

* * *

Horatio and Frank were quickly spotted by the denizens of South Beach. Nubile women in bikinis that revealed more than they hid smiled at them, slow winks attempting at an invitation. Horatio glanced away, studying the structure before him. The Speak was one of a string of low-lying clubs, al of which were located on the famed Washington Avenue, that featured a balcony lit by a string of bare lightbulbs. The sign above the door wasn't one of the neon signs that were so often seen. It looked like something you would have seen in Times Square in the 20's, the blocky letters lit by high wattage bulbs. A familiar blue Mustang was parked along the curb, Laila leaning against the passenger door. Two young men in matching deep V-neck shirts were talking to her, their posture far too aggressive for Horatio's liking. He let the siren wail for a second before he cut it off as he pulled up, sending the guys back a few steps. Laila flashed him a grin as he came around the front.

"I told them I wasn't interested." She laughed, snorting as she looked over to the men. The two of them were obviously fitness junkies, muscles rippling underneath the tight shirts they wore. Their hair had been spiked with enough hair gel to almost give it an edge.

"Maybe now they'll finally understand." Horatio told her. The two club hoppers looked Horatio up and down, squinting against the afternoon sun. It didn't do anything for their looks, what little there was. Horatio assumed from their rather orange-ish complexions that they were tourists come down from the East Coast. God, sometimes he wished Miami wasn't such a tourist destination. There would certainly be less cases for him to work on.

"We were just trying to help out the girl, man." One of them offered, stepping forward. "Baby like that needs to party." His buddy seemed to find this amusing, gesturing with his hands to outline a curvy woman. It was when he began to do a little grinding dance that Horatio flashed his badge and gun.

"You two are interrupting a police investigation, leave." He let all emotion drop out of his voice, fixing the two with the coldest glare he could. Even with his sunglasses on it should have scared them. It apparently did for they quickly left, casting glares over their shoulders. Horatio gave a satisfied sort of grunt, quickly turning it into a cough when Laila turned to look at him. She stepped forward, holding the door to the club open for him. He gestured for Frank to follow him and stepped inside, quite shocked by what he found.

The club was darker than most of the others on the street. There were only a few windows, thick glass only letting a little light in. Everything else came from the two large chandeliers hanging over the dance floor, crystal beads dripping and glinting in the light. The dance floor itself was sunk down so that there could be a circle of booths and tables around the top edge. Heavily shaded lamps provided light for the individual tables, glinting off the dark wood. Everything was paneled in dark wood with darker leather against it. Opposed to the bright flashy clubs that populated South Beach, The Speak was a dark horse. Horatio looked down towards the dance floor, the band had pulled stools from the bar down there to circle up. There as apparently little suspicion among them, they were talking nd laughing together.

"Hey guys." Laila called out, stepping forward. The band apparently knew her, several standing up to hug her, shake her hand, or give her one of the European style air kisses. "This here is Lieutenant Caine," She gestured to him, "and Detective Tripp from the Miami-Dade PD. They just want to ask you guys a few questions."

"Thought this was a rehearsal." One of the members said, a young white man who had a trumpet case by his feet. A few others made noises of agreement. Horatio noticed that the band was a miss-mash of Miami neighborhoods. He heard a few black men speaking French, obviously from Little Haiti. Others spoke Spanish with a Cuban accent from Calle Ocho, quite different from what he could tell were college kids looking for a chance to play.

"It will be, just because you have to talk to the officers doesn't mean you get out of practice." Laila told them, playfully swatting at the kid. Horatio and Frank each took a member, working their way through the band. Horatio found his most probable suspect was a young Latino man, their saxophone player. A very familiar scent was washing off of him, something he had first smelled at the racetrack.

"Vitonio, tell me, what do you know about horse races?" He asked, leaning over one of the booths.

"Not much, officer." The kid answered. Horatio couldn't see the boy being over twenty, maybe twenty-one.

"Really, because I can smell the liniment on you." The scent was overpowering. Horatio had been told by Darren that liniment was used on a horse's coat to help the animal cool down. "Now, I can't see much reason for you to use that stuff unless you're at a track." Horatio lifted a single eyebrow. "Even an illegal one."

"Listen, I didn't want to do that." Vitonio leaned closer to the Lieutenant, his voice low. "Richard, he comes to me and he says he wants me to sell a horse. He knows Miguel, one of my cousins, runs this little track out by the Glades. Gives me a VIP pass for opening night, tells me to throw it around. Told me I had better get twenty grand for this damn horse, twenty grand or he fires me and outs Miguel. Then he goes on and on about disguises, how we got to wear gloves and hats."

"Why would Richard Gibson need twenty thousand?" Horatio asked him, "His family's got money."

"Listen man, I don't know. I just didn't want to lose my job, okay?"

"And Richard has the money, correct?"

"Yeah, handed it to him myself. He just sneered, then left." Vitonio shrugged his shoulders. His clothes were baggy on him, threadbare and noticeably old. Or perhaps that was just the style, Horatio had no idea. He enjoyed his high end suits, combining sensibility with Miami's style. He had a certain preference for Hugo Boss, he would have to buy a few more soon. He always seemed to ruin a couple, bloodstains and gunshots could do that to a suit.

"You still have that pass, Vitonio?"

"Yeah, I split fast. Soon as that lady got the horse. I didn't want to be there." Vitonio reached down, pulling a leather wallet from his pocket. Horatio drew on a pair of latex gloves he pulled from a pockets, gesturing for Vitonio to lay the wallet on the table. Gently, he picked up the wallet opening it slowly. Sure enough, sticking out of a credit card slip was a dark green card, emblazoned with the familiar gold type. Horatio drew it out, holding it up to the light. There might be a few usable prints off of it. He'd get it to Eric once he got back to the lab.

"Was Richard wearing gloves when he gave this to you?" He asked, fingers inching towards his CSI kit. Usually he didn't carry it, but he had had a feeling that he might need it when he left the police complex.

"Nah, man. Just handed it to me." Vitonio watched as Caine wrote a description of the pass on a manilla envelope, then slid the card inside. "You guys gonna arrest me?"

"Not today, Vitonio." Horatio told him, standing up. He gestured for Frank to come over from where he had been interviewing the lead singer. The balding Texan was quickly briefed on the situation.

"How're we going to get a warrant?" He asked, "Judge won't give it to us with only one witness to go off of. Especially a witness connected to that track."

Horatio considered Frank's point. He was right, there really wouldn't be any way for them to obtain a warrant based on the testimony of a witness connected this way to the case. He bit his lip, noticing Laila walking up from the sunken dance floor. The small staircase leading up from the dance floor was noticeably free of any grime, clean as a whistle. Benefits of the club not being open.

"Maybe we just have to ask nicely." Horatio told him, turning to Laila. "Could you get us a meeting with Richard Gibson?"

"Hah!" Laila laughed, "I can't even get a meeting with him. What I can tell you though is that he goes clubbing almost every night."

"Frank it looks like we get to go dancing." Horatio told him, smirking when Tripp groaned loudly. If there was one thing the Texan couldn't stand, aside from gangs, it was clubs. The poor man couldn't dance to the fast beats of modern music, nor would he even go near the places unless it was required.

"I take it you'll be working late." Laila asked, smiling when he nodded. "Well, so will I. A little recon at the clubs around here." Horatio crinkled his nose, causing his forehead to wrinkle. He knew that she did this occasionally, claiming that she had to do research. Tonight might be good for that though, an eye at the clubs. She could tail Richard, call him if she saw anything. He and Frank could work their way down the clubs, and she could work her way up. Three sets of eyes were better than two.

"Alright, tell me if you spot him."

* * *

It had been weeks since Laila had gone clubbing. Usually she just went to find out how they were advertising, who was a their party, and what they were serving. Other times she just went to dance. Tonight was going to be different, she decided as she pulled a silver maxi dress from her closet. Her silver flats came with it, sensible instead of sexy. Sh was planning to walk the clubs, maybe tip a few bouncers to let her in without waiting in line.

It wouldn't be easy finding Richard. The man moved from club to club, never staying in the same one. Laila had a feeling that his might be a wild goose chase, but if she could help Horatio she would. It helped that she didn't really like Richard. She had talked to Carl earlier, claiming that she wanted to make up with Richard over the ads. He had given her a few clubs but hadn't known much. It seemed Carl was distancing himself, he said that Richard hadn't been by for meetings.

_What are you up to you little bastard? _She thought as she swiped blush onto her cheeks. She would go a little overboard with the makeup, glittery eyeshadow splayed behind her eyes. She would look good, good enough for her to get what she needed. Rather, what Horatio needed. He had told her that they needed fingerprints from Richard, both hands. Laila had no idea what he would do if they found him. From what she had heard between him and Frank they couldn't arrest him, lacking probable cause. All they had Vitonio's statement that Richard had told him to sell the horse.

Horatio hadn't come back from work, he had called to say that he would be at work until ten, and then he would be running down the clubs with Frank. Laila doubted that they would be the one to find Richard. Cops at a club drew crowds, everyone trying to find out what was going on. If Richard saw them, and if what Vitonio said was true, he would weasel his way out of the club, running to the next one on the strip. Richard had friends everywhere, throwing his dad's cash around like it wouldn't run out.

They'd get him though, she didn't doubt that. Even if Laila was just following him from club to club, she'd keep Horatio in the loop. They had figured that they would text each other, most of the clubs being to loud for any phone calls. Truthfully, she was excited. She could help Horatio, go out and have a little fun, and sure, she could gain a little revenge on Richard. It might be petty, but it was still something.

She pulled on a rhinestone necklace, letting the small stones dangle their way down her chest. She considered herself in her mirror. It was almost like looking at a stranger. To fit in with the club crowd she had to go overboard with everything. Makeup had been shellacked on, but it would look natural under the harsh and sporadic club lighting. That lighting would sparkle off her dress and jewelry, drawing attention to her. That was what she wanted, no, she needed. If she couldn't recognize herself, maybe Richard wouldn't either. It would be easy to try and get something. Take his credit card, a receipt, something that she could give to Horatio. She packed her purse, grabbing her phone, keys, powder, lipstick and mascara.

She also grabbed the can of mace Horatio gave her.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Be prepared for a long chapter!**

* * *

Laila sipped the shot of tequila, trying to see through the inky blackness of the club she was in. This place's thing was ultraviolet paint, so they kept everything dark. The drinks were lit by glow sticks, and shone in the black lights. So far, she hadn't seen Richard. She left her glass at the bar, walking past a woman clothed in her underwear writhing as a similarly dressed man ran paint covered fingers over her. Every club on Washington had a theme. Snake dancers, hip hop, flaming drinks, there was too much to keep track of. Laila moved to a good vantage point and looked around. No Richard.

_**Negative at Blackout.  
Headed for Riptide.**_

She fired the text off to Horatio as she walked out. They'd been at this for a couple hours, and no far, zero, zilch, nada. He and Frank had been working their way down, scanning clubs and then heading to the next. They had started at opposite ends of the street and were working towards each other. She blocked out a couple wolf whistles as she headed for Riptide, a beach themed club. _How __original_, she thought, _a__s if that idea hasn't been done two hundred times_. Luckily, she didn't have to tip a bouncer since there wasn't one. It was always easier to get into a club without waiting in line.

"Hey, want a drink?" A guy called out, grabbing her hand as she walked in. He was barefoot, as were several others. The club sported an actual beach, sand and saltwater occupying part of the club.

"Sorry, I'm looking for a friend." She told him, pulling her hand away. He glared at her, but quickly focused on the next girl walking in. Typical Casanova. She walked up to the bartender, sheltered beneath a little tiki shack.

"What you want?" The girl asked, her coconut bra looking awfully uncomfortable. _Why in the world would you wear one of those?_

"Actually, I'm looking for a guy. You seen him?" Laila held up her phone, a picture of Richard Gibson displayed. She had downloaded the photo and had been asking the bartenders and bouncers for their help.

"Yeah," the girl said, "he was here about an hour ago. Left real fast."

"He meet anybody?"

"That guy," she pointed to a table. "Sat down for like five minutes, then left."

"Thanks." Laila gave the bar a pat, looking at the man. He was young, in his twenties, with blonde hair that tried to look nonchalant but had obviously taken half an hour to gel just right. His blue eyes sparkled in the faux sunlight, hands twitching across the table. Laila could see a bag by him, zipped up. She offered him a smile, batting her lashes.

"Have a seat." He told her, sliding a stool towards her. "You want anything?"

"Not right now." She sat, crossing her legs.

"What about a little ..." He tapped the side of his nose. "I can get you some nice stuff." _Horatio will love you._

"Not right now, say I heard Richard Gibson was here." She reached a hand out, flipping the bottle cap of his beer into her hand. "I've always wanted to meet him." Laila flashed a small smile, lowering her lashes.

"He was." The guy leaned forward. "Not now."

"You know where he went?"

"Why you looking so hard for Rich?" He asked, his eyes suddenly darkening. "He owe you something?"

"Just curious." Laila backed off, her eyes tightening, lips creasing. She referred to this as her 'Fuck off' vibe. Apparently the guy wasn't going to give her anymore, so she quickly left the table. Suddenly perturbed by the stuffy air in the club she quickly walked to the door, enjoying the breeze that was beginning to blow.

_**He was at Riptide.  
I'm going to keep checking the clubs.  
Oh, there's also a coke dealer in Riptide. Blonde guy at a table by the bar.  
Have fun.**_

* * *

Horatio Caine had experienced too many clubs. Tonight was a night that would push an officer to their limits. An afternoon of paperwork, followed by overtime that involved chasing shadows down Miami's street of clubs. Thankfully he'd be able to sleep in tomorrow, even he was afforded a few holidays. If this was hard on him, it was hell on Frank. The swarthy Texan kept swinging his head, looking from side to side. To him, every kid out clubbing must have seemed like a suspect.

He glanced at Laila's text, smiling.

"Frank, call in a patrol. We've got a dealer on our hands." Patting the man on the shoulder, he set off towards Riptide. It was definitely one of the more mainstream clubs, packed with people. He flashed his badge, trying to get the gyrating people out of the way. He could see the guy Laila mentioned, lounging with his arms over the shoulders of two lithe women. They all seemed twitchy, could definitely be coked up. He stopped in front of the table, watching.

"You need something?" The guy asked, untangling himself from one of the women.

"I just want to ask you a few questions." Horatio said, pulling his jacket back to display his badge. He could see the guy blanche, the badge an almost physical blow. "So if your friends could leave us." The women quickly disappeared, looking back at him in fright.

"Listen, I don't need any trouble." The guy said, grabbing the bag next to him tighter. "Just leave and this will all be okay." Horatio shifted his hand to his gun, biting his lip. The guy had one hand under the table, the other on his bag. He could have a gun, a small piece that he could sneak around.

"Son, put your hands on the table where I can see them." Horatio ordered, his hand grabbing the butt of his pistol. The last thing they needed right now was a shootout. There'd be collateral damage, maybe even a few fatalities. The noise would scare Richard off, and possibly bring Laila running. Running to help him, and sending her into the line of fire. He scowled, "Now."

"No trouble, okay?" The guy said, bringing his hands up. "You see, I'm cooperating."

"Put the bag on the table." Horatio ordered. The man did, raising his hands up. The had the whole club's attention now. He could hear Frank enter, another cops footsteps behind him. "Now open it." The guy nodded, drawing the zipper open. Horatio could see the pale green of American cash, alongside the white of cocaine. Laila was right. Frank stepped forward, reading the guy his rights. Whoever the dealer was, he was quickly cuffed and out of the way. Horatio walked out of the club, looking down the street. Every club was lit in neon, partiers out front and inside.

"Well, we got something out of this night." Frank said, joining him.

"There's still a chance of getting more." Horatio told him, starting off towards the next club. He felt like the cycle wouldn't end for the rest of the night. They'd enter a club, look around, then go for the next one. Horatio hated the chance that Richard might wander into a club they already checked, but he hoped Laila might catch him if that happened. It was helpful having a third set of eyes going over the street. South Beach could be confusing, distracting, and enchanting. It promised fun, harmless fun, but sometimes it delivered something quite the opposite. He watched as a couple of girls, no way over twenty-one, took a beer bong form some guy on the street. Sometimes Miami left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was still better than New York.

"Yeah, but who's to say this guy hasn't gone over to Collins by now." Frank snorted, walking alongside him.

"His father said he always hangs around here." Horatio turned to look at the next club. The windows featured stripper poles for the guests to dance on. "We'll just have to hope he stays around."

* * *

Laila felt like banging her head on the wall. She had always hated being hit on, and for some reason the club hoppers had nothing better to do. Then again, they were club hoppers. She shook her head, walking to the next club. Heaven or Hell? God, who named these things? Then again, she couldn't complain. She was working on a club. Her father had told her that you can't bitch unless you do something about it. He had been talking about voting but it fit in here.

"Easy there little lady, you gotta wait." A deep voice called out. The club's bouncer stood there, a man big enough that he could have probably played on the Dolphin's defense.

"Now," Laila said, drawing out a twenty dollar bill. "Couldn't we arrange a little something?" She tucked it into the breast pocket on his shirt.

"We cool, head on in." The bouncer pulled back the velvet rope restricting admission to the club. You had the choice of going up or down when you got in, Laila picked up. The upper deck was decorated in white and silver, cocktail waitresses dressed as angels serving drinks. From here, you could look down and see everyone in 'Hell'. Laila stood over the railing and looked.

Wait.

Here was there. Good God he was there. Richard was leaning back in a booth, sipping a shot glass full of some sort of clear liquor. A woman, her attire skimpy, was cuddling up by him, her lips locked onto his neck. Laila shakily typed out a text to Horatio, telling him the name of the club. A few seconds later her phone buzzed, saying that they were on their way. Laila waited five minutes before checking her phone again.

_**Laila, meet us outside**__**.**_

She walked to the exit, getting her hand stamped by a waiter dressed as a devil. She could see Horatio and Tripp standing there, the bouncer blocking their way into the club. She could hear the bouncer from inside the club.

"Listen, guys, I can't let you in." He was saying, holding up his hands to push them back.

"I can get you arrested for obstruction of justice." Horatio told him, pulling his coat back to display his badge.

"I know, but it's gonna take you what, twenty minutes to get a car down here? By then, the guy who paid me will be long gone."

"So someone payed you off." Tripp said, "Should I call back up Horatio?" Laila stood off to the side, giving a little wave. Horatio noticed, then gestured for Frank to back off. She gave it a couple of minutes, then flashed her stamped hand at the bouncer to let her out. Horatio and Frank were just around the corner.

"You saw him?" Horatio asked, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose.

"Yeah, but I'm guessing Richard tipped the bouncer." Laila watched as Frank bit his lip, looking at the ground. "And I take it you guys can't get in there because of that."

"Damn right." Frank cursed, kicking at the ground.

"But you can." Horatio smiled, "If I told you what to do, could you bring us his prints?"

"Yeah, I guess." Laila shrugged her shoulders, "I mean I can try."

"That's all I'd ask you to do." Horatio said. He went on to outline exactly what she'd have to do, and Laila tried to remember. Apparently if her fingerprints were on it, there wouldn't be an issue. They already had her fingerprints on file so they could easily eliminate her. She could feel her stomach begin to tie itself up in knots like it did whenever she got stressed. Finally Horatio came to the end of his little speech. "Are you ready?"

"No, but I can do this." Laila told him, more for her benefit than his. She turned around and headed back to the club, flashing her hand at the bouncer to let her back in. This time, she descended down into Hell. The temperature increased noticeably, probably to try and get the club's patrons to shrug out of some of their clothing. She took a seat on a stool by the bar, grabbing a few napkins. The bartender came over, asking if she would like a drink. She asked him for a White Russian, and to the bartender's extreme confusion, a Ziploc bag.

"Here's your drink, and the bag." He told her a few minutes later, coming back with them. Laila thanked him, watching Richard. He had set the empty shot glass down, and had left to go dance. She walked to the table, slipped the glass over her finger, then dropped it in the bag. Nobody seemed to have noticed her as she tucked it away in her purse. She still had one hand to get, though. Couldn't get too excited. She walked over to the other side of the room, looking around.

_God, not again._

The two jerks from this morning were standing above her, looking down. They had apparently spotted her, whistling over the music. Laila shook her head, turning away from them. She needed to focus, to keep an eye on Richard. He had exited the dance floor, arms locked around the woman that he had been dancing with. That wasn't the only thing that was locked, their lips hardly seemed to separate from the other's. She watched his hand slam down onto a brochure that littered the table. _That was his left, he was drinking the shot glass with his right__. Now is the time._ Laila glanced over, noticing a drink tray on a table. She grabbed it, piling a couple of glasses on it to make it look convincing. Pulling the bust of her dress down, she tried to look like the angel waitresses from upstairs. Apparently it worked, a harried devil handing her a leather folder and pointing her towards Richard's table. _Okay, this is way to easy._

"Aren't you supposed to be upstairs?" Richard asked, releasing his liplock on his partner's neck.

"Haven't you ever heard of a fallen angel?" Laila just spat it out, trying to control the shaking that had seemed to have taken over her hands. Richard signed the receipt and handed it back to her. She took the folder and walked into the crowd. She slipped it into her purse, then made up an excuse about some guy dousing her and the receipt in a drink and Richard needing a new one. Purse in hand she turned toward the stairs.

"Hey sweetie, you looking good." One of the club hoppers from this morning said. "I said to Gyp, ain't that the girl from this morning?"

"And I says, Charlie it sure is." Gyp said, standing by Charlie. Laila took a step back, casting her eyes around.

"Thanks guys, but I've got to run." She told them, trying to see around their massive shoulders. This was not good, not good at all. She could practically feel the testosterone rolling off of them.

"You know, I don't think you do." Gyp smirked, "That cop ain't around. Seems to me that you can stay with us."

"And you know, we really did want to mash his face in this morning." Charlie told her, grabbing one of her outstretched hands in a large palm. "So I think you can stay and party with us for now."

"Thanks, but I've really got to go." Laila tried, jerking her hand back and whirling so that she could back up the stairs. "I think I left the oven on, or something." _God, that was lame. _

"I say you stay." Charlie said, jerking her down a couple of stairs. It was a knee jerk reaction for Laila, literally. She slammed her knee into Charlie's groin, scrambling backwards onto the entrance floor as he went to his knees, clutching himself.

"Get her, bro." Charlie hissed, sending Gyp her way. Laila tried to move but he moved faster than she expected, a meaty paw clamped around her neck. Her head cracked against the wall as he slammed her back. She blinked, trying to clear the fuzziness that was beginning to take over her vision. She could hear someone screaming, Gyp yelling in her face, and some girl saying 'cops, call the cops'. Laila watched as a few people tried to pull Gyp off but he swiped them aside, doubling the pressure on her throat. Her fingers began to dig furrows in his hand, clawing as she returned to her animalistic instincts.

The girl was still screaming for the police, and Laila wanted to yell that there were two outside, that all she had to do was go out and scream for Horatio and he would come running and he would make everything alright. She wanted to scream but it was all she could do to try and gasp air down. All she could think was Horatio, he had to come. There had to be someway for him to help. Help, he had to come. Wait, maybe he was here. The mace was still in her purse, banging against her side. She pulled a hand off of his fist, fumbling in her purse. The cool metal of the mace can was a sweet reminder that Horatio could help even if he wasn't here. With a finger on the trigger she pulled it out, then trained it on him. It felt like it had been minutes since he had started choking her, but it could only have been thirty seconds.

She pressed down, sending a burning mist into Gyp's face.

* * *

Horatio and Frank had stepped over to a streetlight, and he was currently leaning against it. It was so late, and he thought Laila would have been out by now. He glanced to the club entrance, which was still patrolled by the bouncer and packed with people. He leaned his head back and thought. Wolfe had accepted his invitation, and was planning to arrive in the afternoon. Horatio had chuckled to himself as he noticed how red the young officer had turned. Ryan was a good kid, a good CSI, but sometimes he was rather awkward.

Frank looked up, squinting. Horatio looked up too. They had heard a sound that policemen learned after a few years. The collective gasp and surge that a crowd gave when something violent was happening. Then the screaming started.

"Horatio." Frank said, hand drifting to his gun.

"Let's go, Frank." He told him, drawing his weapon. Guns in hand, announcing they approached the crowd. "Miami-Dade PD! Get back!" The crowd didn't listen, and Horatio would up having to elbow his way through. Frank was right behind him, shoving people out of the way. The bouncer had abandoned his post, holding some guy back as he tried to get at a girl, the skirt of her silver dress ripped, and a hand on her throat. Her other hand was clutching her purse to her chest, her back against the wall more for support than anything else.

"H-Horatio." She rasped, blinking. He looked to her feet. Another man was on the floor, his hands clawing at his already blistering face. He was rolling, crying as he tried to get the pain off of his skin. A bottle of mace had been dropped, glinting from the lights.

He was suddenly at war with himself, half of him screaming that he should kick the guy while he was down. His sensible half was saying that Laila needed him, and that he didn't need an investigation into why he assaulted a suspect.

The sensible half won out.

"Are you alright?" He asked her, holstering his weapon. Laila tried to talk, but grimaced and settled for a nod instead. "Frank, let's book him." Horatio called back, turning his head. Frank was already holding the man the bouncer had been struggling with, cuffs around his wrists.

"This one too, Horatio." Frank replied. He forced the man to his knees and sat him against the wall. "I'll need your cuffs."

"Take 'em." He tossed the cuffs to Frank, returning his gaze to Laila. She caught his eyes, then tapped her purse, the tips of her fingers, and smiled. She had got the prints then, and apparently everything was in her purse. "Let's get you to the hospital." Laila shook her head, trying to mouth out what she wanted to say. "You're not fine. You need a doctor."

"No." She gasped, her voice rough. She then went into a coughing fit, finally ending with tears in her eyes. Horatio handed her a handkerchief from his pocket, which she used to wipe her eyes.

"Frank, put them in the Hummer. I'm taking her to the ER." Horatio ordered, reaching for Laila. He watched her furrow her brows, gaining a rather angry look on her face. Her breath rushed out of her nose though, as if she had been considering something and had given in. She nodded, stumbling towards the door. He quickly grabbed her arm, steadying her. "Where's the Mustang?" Laila gave a vague gesture towards the end of the street. Horatio walked with her, almost carrying her at points. Horatio spotted the car, parked at a meter. She handed him the keys, settling herself into the passenger seat.

He knew his city, which means he knew the closest hospital was Mount Sinai. He pulled out, speeding away. The hospital wasn't far, so he was quickly handling the check-in process at the Emergency Room. Laila was sitting in an older chair, its plastic cover scuffed and cracked. A nurse came over to where Laila was waiting. The nurse at the desk gave him a sheaf of paperwork to fill out while they waited for a doctor.

"Definitely some bruising, wouldn't be surprised that you've had a hard time breathing." The nurse said, probing Laila's neck. "You're lucky he didn't crush your windpipe." Horatio watched as the nurse filled out paperwork of her own, then left. He flipped through the papers, asking Laila to fill out a few pieces when he didn't know. A nurse quickly approached, guiding them back to bed. It was sequestered back from the main area of the Emergency Room, a mounted TV playing a baseball game. Laila sat on the bed, rubbing her neck.

"It's not that bad anymore." She said, her voice still rough but she didn't seem to be in too much pain.

"Well, that's good." He replied, joining her on the bed.

"Thanks." Laila leaned her head over onto his shoulder. The doctor walked in, quickly gave her orders to fill a prescription for some kind of cough syrup and to drink as many hot drinks as she could. He looked haggard, nodding to them as he left. Horatio sympathized with the man, he knew what it was like to pull long, emotionally draining shifts.

"Ready to go home?" He asked, standing and listening to his joints pop. Laila nodded, and they quickly left the hospital. The only stop they made was to leave off the prescription at a pharmacy. He parked the Mustang, and soon found himself holding Laila on the couch. Some sic-fi movie was playing, but he wasn't concerned about it. He drew his fingers through her hair, periodically lifting a mug of hot chocolate up for her to sip on. She set it down, then turned her head so she could speak quietly and be heard.

"I really do want to thank you," She whispered. "Again. I wouldn't have gone to get checked out, and you were so nice." She sighed into his hair. "I love you." Horatio almost froze, but his arms were still around the drowsy woman and they gathered her close. He tried to reply, he wanted to reply.

"I love you too." It just came out, and he bit his lip. She didn't seem to respond, a soft snoring emanating from her. He lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom. She groaned as he pulled her dress off over her head and pulled an XL T-shirt on. It could serve as a nightdress, for now. That settled, he pulled back the blankets and slipped her underneath them.

"Goodnight." She whispered, mostly asleep. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Goodnight." He told her, walking back out to the living room. He resumed his place on the couch, letting his mind wander. He was rather surprised when he heard a knocking at the door, and he made sure that his gun was within reach as he walked to it. He glanced out of the peephole, finding a balding head waiting outside.

"Frank." He said, opening the door. The detective was standing awkwardly in the hall, but he nodded to Horatio. "What are you doing here?"

"Left the Hummer in the lot, thought you might want the keys. I've got a patrol coming to get me." He grunted, extending the keys to Horatio. "She doing alright?"

"I think so, she's sleeping." Horatio told him. He waved Frank in, leaving the keys on the entrance table. Laila's purse was sitting there too. He reached in, rooting around for anything out of the ordinary. He pulled out a clear plastic bag and a leather folder from the club. He handed them to Frank. "If you could drop these off in the fingerprints department when you get back."

"You got it." Frank nodded, carefully handling the folder. "Horatio, you okay? You looked a little out of it back at the club."

"Yeah, Frank. I'm fine." Horatio walked with Frank back to the door. "I'll see you at the football game tomorrow."

"See you." Frank gave a little goodbye wave and left. Horatio turned back to the couch, turning the television off. He sat in the dark with his thoughts.

_She said she loved me, but was it her, or relief, or did she get into the vodka again, or exhaustion? _He considered the different scenarios, then eventually just threw them all out. Laila loved him, and that was that. He considered his response, how he had hesitated over it. Horatio felt better now, but he still wanted to find this 'Gyp' and beat him into unconsciousness. Then he realized what love was for him, it was the protective instinct that ruled him when people he cared for were threatened. It was how he could sit with Laila and not even speak but just know she was glad he was there. Love was just being by her, seeing her happy.

The more he thought about it, the more his decision was firm.

They loved each other, and that was that.

* * *

**AN: So, I just realized this. I must have watched too much Boardwalk Empire because several of my characters share names with characters in the show. Ah well, inspiration comes from everywhere.**


	7. Chapter 7

Laila gradually became aware that she was awake. All she knew was that this darkness she was in was warm, safe, and very comfortable. She didn't want to open her eyes, but taking a breath through her mouth made her. She sat up immediately, coughing loudly. Her bedroom door quickly opened, Horatio coming in. He was carrying a steaming mug, and all Laila wanted was to drink whatever it contained. She smiled, patting the bed next to her.

"Morning." Horatio said, handing her the mug. Laila gulped down a few swallows, glad that it had cooled enough for her not to burn her mouth.

"Good morning," She told him. Her voice sounded as if she had gargled with rocks for the past three weeks. A few more sips of cocoa made it better. The pain in her throat soothed somewhat, she turned to Horatio. "Do I get this every morning, or only when someone tried to kill me?" Her little joke made Horatio chuckle, just as she'd hoped.

"For now, if you want." He replied. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, throat's still pretty sore." She shrugged. "But I've had worse."

"I'll have to hear that story some time." Horatio kissed her cheek, causing Laila to blush slightly. He could be so sweet, but she remembered last night. When he had come into the club, she had turned. His face had been almost unrecognizable there was so much anger in it. Laila could have sworn that he was going to kick Gyp, who had been rolling around on the ground, but all he had done was care for her and get her out of there. She had a little theory that he had taken her out of there precisely so that he wouldn't wind up doing anything violent.

"How about after football?" Laila felt apprehension rise, "I didn't sleep through it did I?"

"No," Horatio gave a deep laugh. "But are you sure you want to do that? You know, you could have died last night." His arm went around her, and Laila leaned back into it as she answered.

"Oh, I've done more in a worse condition." All she really wanted was for this day to go well. She wanted to play a little football with her Dad, who more than likely would cover Horatio at every opportunity, bake a pie, roast the turkey, and spend a day with the people she loved. _Love, love, I told him ... last night. _She couldn't remember how he replied, must have dozed off before he answered. _Please, _she mentally prayed, _God or whoever is out there, please don't let that have made him scared. Please don't make him run._

"Let me guess," Horatio lowered his lips to her ear, "You'll tell me later?"

"Yep, I've got to get ready for a game. Plus, we have to get my Dad." Laila pulled herself to her feet, blinking the dizziness back that threatened to send her toppling over. Horatio was there, a steadying hand on her shoulder. Laila looked over, smiling. He always seemed to be there when she needed him. "Thanks, listen I'm sorry if I said anything last night and freaked you out."

"Actually," Horatio stood closer to her, and she looked up into cool blue eyes that flashed with sincerity. "I'm glad you did." He then proceeded to kiss her, and Laila practically felt herself melt. She could see Thanksgiving happening this way, no work, no family, just her and Horatio. He finally broke off the kiss and whispered to her. "I love you." Laila could feel her eyes begin to mist.

"I love you too." She murmured, kissing him again. Horatio seemed all to willing to oblige her, but time was not on their side. There was so much to do, a game to play, a pie to make, a turkey to roast, and a holiday to get through. After giving Horatio a little squeeze, she slipped over to her bathroom and from there to her closet. Grinning, she shoved aside the business suits and skirts, the yoga pants and tank tops, the cute little dresses and the longer, fancier ones, and found what she was looking for. White, with green accents, her University of Miami Hurricane's jersey had seen her through football games back in Iowa and days lounging around the apartment. It was perfect for the game, and combined with a short pair of yoga pants, long socks that ended just below her knees she was ready.

Her hair she put into a ponytail, but when she looked in the mirror all she could see was the light green bruises that were starting to appear around her throat. Her reflection raised a shaking hand, running fingers over hurt flesh. She dug in her makeup drawer, drawing out the liquid concealer that she only used on zits that refused to blend in. Gently, she dabbed it on her neck. Trained fingers smoothed it, then used powder to blend it into the rest of her neck. She could barely tell it was there, hopefully no one else would.

"Are you ready?" She asked, stepping out to find Horatio standing there in a gray T-shirt. It read 'Miami-Dade Police' across the front, and he wore a pair of basketball shorts and tennis shoes with it. All Laila could focus on was his pale legs. "You are going to have to tan."

"I've tried." Horatio told her. He grabbed the keys to the Hummer from the table, and then they were off. Her parents were staying in some hotel chain, near the water, and she had texted her father to meet her in the lobby. She could see him in there, his Iowa Hawkeye's jersey and jean shorts standing out from the dark wood and embroidered upholstery. She ran over, hugging him tightly. He did the same, and Laila could feel the deep rumbling of his laugh.

"You've been good?" He asked, and she nodded into his chest. She stepped back as he turned to Horatio. "You ready to play?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." Horatio told him. Laila smiled at her father, but it slowly disappeared as his mouth drew into a thin line. His eyes had drifted to her neck, where some of the makeup had smudged, revealing her bruises. Jeff's eyes flashed to Horatio, and Laila moved between them as he began to walk towards Horatio.

"Laila, did he do this?" Jeff's voice was thick, angry.

"No, he didn't. Now, I will tell you why." She held up a hand, stopping his progress. "But not here. Outside, by the Hummer. Okay?" She made a shooing motion to Horatio, who stepped outside to the Hummer. Laila stepped behind a column, motioning for her father to follow.

"What happened?" Jeff asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. "If he hurt you, I will kill him."

"Dad, it wasn't Horatio. I went to a club to do a little research and these guys kept coming after me. I tried to leave and one of them grabbed me, so I did what you always said to. I kicked him in his junk." Laila shrugged, enjoying her father's smirk. "The other guy grabbed me around my neck and he choked me for a bit before I maced him. Mace that came from Horatio by the way. Then Horatio came in, took me to the hospital, and took me home." She looked up to her father. "Dad, he would never do anything like this."

"Don't lie to me Laila."

"Dad, the last time I tried to lie to you, I wasn't allowed to leave the house for three weeks. That, and you took away any outside contact. I've learned my lesson."

"If I ask him, will he say the same thing?"

"Yes," She hissed. "Just don't be mean about it." Laila walked back over to the Hummer, almost jumping up into it. Horatio was in the driver's seat, waiting for them. Jeff apparently didn't want to talk now, maintaining his silence as Horatio drove them to Lummus Park.

* * *

Horatio didn't quite know what to think of Jeff's silence. It was a contemplative silence, the kind that only came around when someone was considering something in their mind, figuring out exactly what was going on, how it happened, if someone was telling the truth or not. Horatio was very familiar with that kind of silence. He knew it was best not to interrupt that meditation, it could lead to an argument. Soon, Lummus park came into view. A perfectly manicured park, it abounded with palm trees and large open fields. One of these fields had been marked off with some sort of white powder. Horatio would learn later that it was flour. He pulled over onto the curb, in a line of cars that he often saw at the Doral offices. He saw Frank, sticking out in a burnt orange jersey, talking to a few fellow officers. Laila got out, waiting for him and Jeff by the hood.

"Hey sweetie, why don't you go over there?" Jeff grunted. "I need to speak to the Lieutenant for a minute." Laila nodded, jogging her way over to the group. She greeted Frank with a little hug, immediately jumping into the conversation.

"What do you need?" Horatio asked him, drawing on his sunglasses.

"Did you attack my daughter?" Jeff was blunt, right to the point. Horatio looked closely at him, noting the muscles that rippled down his arms, the way he stared straight at him. This was not a man to take his loved ones being harmed lightly.

Neither was Horatio.

"I did not, and the man that did is spending his Thanksgiving in a cell." Horatio told him.

"She said you took her to the hospital."

"I did, despite her protests."

Jeff chuckled, "She never did like doctors."

"I figured that." Horatio joined him in laughing, just a small one.

"Are charges going to be pressed against that guy?" Jeff sobered, his eyes narrowing.

"If Laila wants, she may just want to move on." Horatio said. A piercing whistle blew out, drawing their attention. Eric Delko was standing there, a set of red flags around his waist, and his arms in the air.

"Are you playing or not?" He called out. Jeff snorted, jogging over and Horatio quickly followed. Jeff and Laila had been picked for the same team, while Horatio found himself with Frank on Eric's team. There was a bit of milling around, but finally they lined up across from each other. Eric had won the coin toss, they'd play offense first. Horatio was surprised to see Laila playing on the defensive line. He was playing some form of receiver, and he was not surprised to see Jeff guarding him.

"Hike!" Eric called, and Horatio sprang. He ducked under Jeff's blocking arm, and took off down the field, Jeff in front of him. He looked back, just in time to see Laila slip under Frank's arm and run at Delko. Eric panicked, scrambling backwards as she focused in on his flags. Horatio watched as she faked left, went right, and triumphantly held Eric's flags in her hand. Jeff smirked down at Horatio, then jogged back. Eric's first series didn't go well. Laila had gathered whoever was on the line and they were pressuring him like crazy. Eric threw out of bounds once, managed to throw a pass to someone who was quickly tackled, and finally they punted away. Horatio found Jeff never left him, hounding him, and a couple times Horatio actually ran into the man.

"H, your girlfriend's crazy." He told Horatio, breathing heavily.

"So's her father." Horatio wiped his forehead. The brutal Miami heat didn't even dissipate in November. The humidity didn't either. Soon enough, the game would be over, and he could return to their nice air conditioned apartment.

"Yeah, well, at least you don't have to say that you got sacked by a girl." Eric replied, jogging back up. Horatio chuckled, settling himself on the line across from Jeff. Jeff gave him a lopsided smirk.

"You holding up?" Jeff asked, stretching his arms over his head.

"I'm just getting started." Horatio told him, then blocked as Jeff tried to run past him. Horatio kept with him, then jumped up to tip the ball as it spiraled toward the other man. It tumbled to the ground, and he picked it up and threw it back to Laila. She cocked an eyebrow at him, then walked the ball back to the center. Jeff gave him a grunt and Horatio could have sworn he said, 'not half bad'.

* * *

Laila jerked in a rickety breath. Her throat burned, her muscles ached, and she had never felt so alive. She loved the brutal grace of football, how half the time you could duck, weave, bob around any threat, and the other half you could just barrel through, shoving people aside as you moved toward your goal. You could strategize, and see your plans fail. You could improvise and see luck turn in your favor. It was a game of chance, of chaos, and it was oh so satisfying to watch. And to play.

"Looking a little winded, Eric." She taunted as he dropped back behind the center. "Getting a little tired?"

"You wish." He replied. Laila watched him, noting the subtle tensing of his arms as he called for the ball. She tried to slip past the offensive line, finally gaining a little ground when she decided to run around the outside. Eric had launched himself forward, the ball tucked into the crook of his elbow. She was so focused on him, and God how could she have missed the fact that he was running, that she didn't notice the officer who was barreling towards her.

Suddenly all she could see was the sky above her, great puffy clouds scudding across the bright blue. She thought, somebody must have hit her. She saw a guy, someone she didn't know, shaking his head as he worked on standing up. Laila did what she had done when she was a kid and had played football. She twitched her fingers, her toes, took in a deep breath, and in general just made sure all her systems were functioning. With a grunt she pulled herself up to her feet, offering a hand to the other guy.

"Hey, it's a flag game." She joked, pulling him up to his feet. The guy laughed, then made his way back to the line. A hand came down on her shoulder, and she jumped about a foot in the air.

"Are you okay?" Horatio asked, his eyes concerned.

"Fine! Never been better." Laila told him. She turned when she saw her father coming over.

"Well, the tradition lives on." Jeff clapped her on the back, pulling her in for a hug.

"Tradition?" Horatio had a single eyebrow cocked.

"Yep, you've got to lay the Collins girl out on the ground to have a good Thanksgiving." Jeff laughed, then proceeded to to try and grab Laila for a noogie. Laila politely took a step back, waiting for her father to get it out of his system. He shook his head, then went back to the line.

"That's a tradition?" Horatio had lowered his head so far that she could feel his lips grazing her hair.

"Yeah, but that wasn't the worst hit I've ever taken." Laila leaned back, enjoying his strong chest. "One time I lost a shoe." Horatio gave a single chuckle, almost a snort really, then kissed the top of her head. Laila sighed, enjoying the feeling.

"HEY H! Come on, get back in the game." Eric yelled, sending both of them back to the line. So far, both teams had scored and it had been decided that the next one to score would win the game. Laila watched Eric, waiting for the sudden tensing that accompanied the decision to have the ball snapped. There! She sprang forward, just as Eric's hands touched the ball. He panicked, the ball falling out of his hands. Laila saw one of the other officers slide, keeping the ball from hitting the ground. It bounced off of him, right into the hands of one of the kids playing. The little boy gave a whoop and took off toward the other end of the field. The kid was fast, plus he had about five teammates behind him blocking anyone who even came close. Everybody cheered when the kid got into the makeshift end zone, and Eric seemed to take the loss with pride. He even high-fived the boy. Laila sauntered over to Horatio, a grin on her face.

"Good game." She told him, offering a hand. He shook it, smiling all the while. Apparently no hard feeling existed, and Laila hadn't expected any. Some people could be really competitive, and others just wanted to play. She looked around, everyone was clearing out. Most of them were covered in sweat, and Laila ran her fingers down her arm. _Ugh, that's nasty. I am so taking a shower._ Horatio didn't look much better, the sheen of sweat on his pale skin making him look almost sickly.

"Ready?" Jeff asked as he came up. Horatio nodded, as did she. The sooner she could get to a shower, the better. The ride back to the hotel didn't seem to take long, but then again Laila was preoccupied with aiming the air-conditioner so that it would cool her off just right. With a promise to be over later, Jeff left and Horatio drove them home. He immediately went for the couch, sighing when he sat down.

"I don't know about you," Laila whispered into his ear. "but I am going to shower. I'll get everything going when I get back." Horatio nodded and she slipped away to her bathroom. She loved that bathroom, done in cool pastels with faux marble and shiny stainless steel fixtures. It possessed a deep bathtub, and a shower beside it. The shower itself was tiled in turquoise, and had a wide drain designed to let sand from the beach trickle down. She turned the hot water on, then stepped inside and let the warm, relaxing stream of water clean the sweat off of her skin.


	8. Chapter 8

Ensconced in her blue robe, Laila stepped out into the kitchen. In the Collins household, the baking of the pumpkin pie held more traditions than a religious festival. These traditions had been going on since she was a kid. Her mother had taught her how to make the pie, and had passed down what her mother had done before her. Laila had added a few little rites of her own. She walked into the kitchen, running her fingers over the freshly cleaned counters.

Leaning down, she withdrew two glass mixing bowls. She set the large one aside, bringing the smaller one to the counter. She added flour, salt, and some cooking oil to the bowl. All she had to do was mix it together with a fork, and she would have a pie crust. It could never be that simple though. She hummed a tune, some lullaby that her mother had sang to her but she had forgotten the words. The crust had to be mixed with smooth, strong motions. Soon enough, the components mixed together, becoming a perfect piecrust mix. Before liberally coating her hands in flour, she pulled out a cutting board, pie tin, and rolling pin. These board and pin were also coated in flour, couldn't have the pie crust sticking to them. Laila looked up as she shifted the pie crust to the board and started.

"Hey." She said, feeling a blush rise. Horatio had managed to sneak up on her, sitting in a stool and watching her from the open space under a set of cupboards. He had his usual smirk on his face. He offered no reply, just motioning for her to continue. She obliged, and lifted the rolling pin. Flattening the dough took a good five minutes, mostly piecing it back together, and her arms began to burn slightly from the continuous rolling. Laila placed the pie tin over it, wormed her fingers under the dough, then flipped it over.

The Collins' had used a certain brand of canned pumpkin for years, and Laila was not going to be the one to break that tradition. As usual, she rummaged everywhere to try and find her can opener. With a triumphant snort she held it up, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. She spooned the pumpkin into the clean mixing bowl, and gathered her spices. Denice had taught her that spices were best used in small amounts and combined with each other, could create a flavor that would leave a grown man begging for more. She poured both brown and white sugar over the pumpkin. Over the sugar she sprinkled cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamon, cloves, and just a tiny bit of ginger. With a clean wooden spoon she mixed the components, then added cream and couple eggs. Then she began to sing.

"_Why are there so many  
Songs about rainbows  
And what's on the other side?_"

She could sense Horatio's confusion, the slight furrow that he developed between his brows, the way his lips tightened. The man was never one to wear his emotions out for the world to see, but being around him had acclimated her to the slight change in his attitude. Horatio was trying to figure out exactly what was going on, why she was singing. She had caught him with the same look late at night, trying to puzzle out some crime.

"_Rainbows are visions  
They're only illusions  
And rainbows have nothing to hide  
So we've been told and some choose to  
Believe it.  
But I know they're wrong, wait and see._"

Horatio had left his stool, walking into the kitchen. Laila could almost feel his gaze, wandering over her every movement as she lifted the filling to pour it into the crust. It was a perfect orange color, a color that reminded her of fall back in Iowa. The trees would change color, going from green to red, gold, orange. They would almost appear on fire, the breeze whipping the leaves into a frenzy. She could almost picture those dancing fires in her mind, but the memory was dim. It had been to long since she had been back to Iowa, back to that place where the only change from earth tones were those burning leaves. Miami had exposed her to bright colors, pristine white, deep blue, neon signs lighting the streets. But there weren't any flaming trees. All the plants around here stayed green, living through the winter thanks to the tropical heat.

"_Someday we'll find it  
The rainbow connection  
The lovers  
The dreamers  
And me_"

Horatio came up behind her, his hands reaching onto her waist. Ah, Miami had given her red. A fiery red shock of hair that cared about her, took care of her when she needed it, and she took care of him. She was the peaceful earth tone to his crimson fury. They kept each other in balance, a balance that allowed them to care for the other. Just as sugar would balance out cinnamon in the pie, she would be the peace to his hectic life.

"_Who said that every wish  
Would be heard and answered_  
_When wished on the morning star?  
Somebody thought of that  
And someone believed it  
Look what it's done so far._"

The pie placed in the oven, she turned to Horatio. It was amazing what she could tell about him without him speaking. The confusion had left his face, his smirk back in place. His lips had softened, and all she wanted to do was kiss them. But, the song came first.

"_What's so amazing  
That keeps us stargazing?  
And what do we think we might see?  
Someday we'll find it  
The rainbow connection  
The lovers  
The dreamers  
And me._"

She gathered up Horatio's hands, placing them on her waist and she put hers around his shoulders. He pulled her closer, burying his nose in her neck. She kept singing, it was almost like stopping would ruin everything. If she stopped, there would be no reason for Horatio to sway with her, no reason for him to brush those feather light kisses against her neck and send chills down her back.

"_All of us under its spell  
We know that it's probably magic.  
Have you been half asleep?  
And have you heard voices?  
I've heard them calling my name.  
Is this the sweet sound  
That calls the young sailors?  
The voices might be one and the same._"

He kept close, his breath whispering over the fuzzy collar of her robe to tickle her neck. She could feel goosebumps begin to rise. He always seemed to be good at that, knowing right where he could touch her lightly and send shivers down her spine. Even his hands on her waist made her all warm, and she could feel the slight heat of a blush making its way up to her cheeks.

"_I've heard it too many times to ignore it  
It's something that I'm supposed to be.  
Someday we'll find it,  
The rainbow connection  
The lovers  
The dreamers  
And me."_

Horatio stopped dancing, instead holding her close. She kept still, smirking into his chest. If he could make her shiver, then so could she. Her fingers dragged down his neck, very little pressure. She toyed with the short hairs on his neck, holding her fingers just above the hair so that goosebumps began to rise on his skin. He didn't gasp the way she did, only reaching up to gather her hands in his. Laila smiled at him, enjoying the laughter in his eyes.

"The Muppets?" He asked, the only words he had said since she had begun to make the pie.

"I sang it years ago, back when I was a kid. My mom said the pie that year was one of the best she had ever made, so it became tradition." Laila told him happily. "Something made with love and care will taste twice as good."

* * *

Horatio hadn't been sure why she had been singing, but now he understood. He hadn't had that loving connection to his parents, the forming of family traditions. He had loved his mother, but they hadn't done anything like this. Thanksgiving in his childhood usually consisted of a small turkey, usually overcooked, with potatoes and some limp green beans. There had been a couple good ones, a few years where his father had gotten along well. But there had been bad ones, ones where the day ended in broken plates and scarred feelings. He and Ray had ended up in their room, trying to drown out the sound of their parents fighting.

The more recent ones had been better. He had enjoyed Thanksgiving with Raymond and Yelina, back when he was still alive. There had always been an underlying tension between the two brothers, but they had kept it buried during the holiday. Horatio had enjoyed spending time with his nephew, holding Ray Jr. back when he was still a baby. Then things had changed. Raymond had begun to work narco, and suddenly their holidays got much more tense. Everything around Raymond had made him angry, and Horatio wasn't sure when his brother would have lashed out. Then he had died, for the first time. Horatio and Yelina had still met for Thanksgiving, but eventually they began to peter out. Soon enough he was spending Thanksgiving alone, Yelina and Ray Jr. going down to Brazil to be with his recently returned from the dead brother. It wasn't as if his team hadn't tried. He and Eric had talked about spending the day together, but it had never happened.

Horatio knew what it was like to spend this day alone, and he didn't want Ryan to know that feeling.

It was a strange feeling, one that sat in the pit of your stomach as you looked at a table laid for one. It wasn't despair, or resignation, or loneliness. It was a combination of all three, mixed with the simple desire to be around another person, another human being. Someone who cared about you, who liked you. Horatio knew Ryan didn't have family around, and after his little gambling issue he wanted the young CSI to know that he still had his boss's trust.

"Horatio, while I would love to stay here." Laila told him, one of her usual complaints. "I've got to get dressed." Horatio had the feeling that she had to remind herself that she should have been doing other things. She stayed for a few minutes, then drew her head away from his chest. "And you need to shower." Horatio snorted, then followed her to the bathroom. Laila pulled what she was going to wear out of the closet, then left the bathroom to him. He walked to the shower, stripping off his sweaty clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Horatio pulled open the frosted glass door, then switched on the hot water.

If he had to name one thing about Laila's apartment that he loved, it would be this shower. Hot water was plentiful, and Laila had gotten one of those multi-function shower heads. it was one where it could massage your back, or just spit on you like rain. Laila had about three different kind of soaps, both bar and gel. He grabbed the bar, some form of cocoa scented soap, and lathered himself up. He stood under the warm stream of water and considered what exactly was going to happen tomorrow.

Black Friday was a day that all cops faced with dread. People lost all sense of realty when Black Friday came around. Suddenly televisions were five dollars, the newest smartphone was free, and murdering a few people that got in your way was no big deal. God he hated that day. _Focus on today. Today, when you're with Laila and her family._ Horatio smirked to himself under the hot water. Family, he hadn't been around a family that wasn't composed of CSI's for a few years.

Maybe this would be a return to normalcy for Horatio.

Well, as normal as his life could get.

He picked up his shampoo from one of the shower's many shelves and squeezed it into his hands. He scrubbed it through his hair, scraping his scalp. It was some regular, store brand. Laila had tried to offer him some kind of shampoo that contained some kind of fruit extract and other goodies, but he had told her that he preferred his cheap shampoo. Laila had snorted at him, declaring that men would never see the glory of women's hygienics. Horatio admired her attempts at jokes, how she could make him smile even when he felt horrible. He rinsed the shampoo from his hair, then turned off the water. He dried himself, wrapped the towel around his waist, and considered what he would wear. He had several options to choose from. He pulled from among his button up shirts he pulled a light green one. Looking at his coats, he decided it wouldn't make much difference which one he picked. They were all dark, but he pulled one of his Hugo Boss sport coats. Hopefully, Denice would be impressed by the designer label and the cut. She struck him as a woman who appreciated style, but only subdued style. Anything that was bright, loud, or just plain weird might throw her off.

Hugo Boss ought to keep her happy, those sports jackets had cost him a pretty penny, especially on a government salary. He pulled on his shirt and pants, then scrubbed his hair dry with the towel. He pulled his comb from the drawer Laila had given to him and drew it through his still slightly wet hair. Horatio looked at himself in the mirror, setting the comb down. The same old face stared back at him, but he could see small differences. His tendency to smile now, as opposed to his former slight frown, drew the corners of his mouth up. The lines around his eyes had smoothed, somewhat. It wasn't as if they were gone at all, just more shallow than they had been before he had begun to see Laila. He shook his head, stepping out of the bathroom. He sat on the bed, drew on his socks, and went out. Laila was sitting on the edge of the couch, her nose buried in a book. The television was still playing, but she paid it no mind. Horatio had always wanted to know how she could block it out so easily, she had merely told him that it was a female thing. Something to the effect that women found it easier to multi-task. _If that's true, then Eric, Ryan, and myself must be the exception to the rule._

"Good book?" He asked, sitting in the couch so he could lean his head back and look up at her.

"Mmm-hmm." She responded. Horatio watched as she read, her eyes jumping from page to page. Truthfully, he had never met someone who could read so quickly. He had known her to finish books with several hundred pages in a few days, and to be able to give him a detailed summary. He didn't demand any of her further attention, knowing that she wouldn't when he was reading. They remained that way for several minutes, content to be by each other, before her phone began to chime. He watched as Laila marked her place, and went to the kitchen to pull the pie out of the oven.

He could smell that pie, it was taunting him with its delicious spicy scent and its golden crust. Suddenly, all he craved was pumpkin pie, topped with whipped cream. That damnable pie was laughing at him, but he knew all he had to do was wait. Soon enough the turkey, which was currently being prepared, would be ready and he could get a piece of that pie. Laila pulled a small jar of garlic and an onion out of the refrigerator, and set up a pan to sauté both of them. Horatio watched as she fried them, then painted them over the skin of the turkey. She sprinkled it with pepper, rosemary, and stuffed it with breadcrumbs and other spices.

"Could you get the door?" She asked, hefting the cutting board she had placed it on. He obliged her, following her out onto the balcony. She set it down on the smoked glass table she had bought for the balcony. Her old Weber grill was smoking, a small fire underneath the grill. Wood chips had been applied liberally, sending off the smoke that he had noticed. Laila lifted the turkey off of the board and transferred it to the grill. Truth be told, he hadn't noticed how her hands had black marks from the charcoal streaked on them. She must have started the fire while he had showered, and then waited for everything to be ready.

"You're smoking it?" He asked her, grabbing the cutting board from the table. He held it away from him, unwilling to dirty his jacket with turkey juice.

"Yep, makes it nice and moist." Laila smirked. He walked back inside, setting the cutting board by the kitchen sink. Horatio could still smell the spices, and if they were anything to go by, this turkey was going to be amazing.

Now all that there was to do was wait.

* * *

**AN: Alright, so I've got a paper to write for finals this week so there will be a wait before the next chapter. Also, I just want to thank everyone who's been reviewing and everyone who's even been reading. And, if you guys do review, I'm just curious and you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but just where does everyone live? I'm posting this chapter at around 10 PM, Mountain time, in Arizona. I just want to know how far far fanfiction can reach, both throughout America and the world. In the words of an article from TIME magazine "_Fan fiction is what literature might look like if it were reinvented from scratch after a nuclear apocalypse by a band of brilliant pop-culture junkies trapped in a sealed bunker."_  
**

**__And with that, enjoy.**


	9. Chapter 9

Laila looked up from her book, the knocking drawing her out of the story. She tucked her bangs behind her ear, set her book on a table and went to the door. Horatio had moved to one of the overstuffed chairs in the reading area, a forensics journal open before him. Laila peeked out of the peephole, smirking. Ryan was standing thee, a bottle of wine held awkwardly in his hand.

"Hey Ryan. Glad to see you." She told him, opening the door. "Come on in."

"Thanks, Ms. Collins." He said, walking in.

"Laila. Call me Laila, okay?" She laughed, taking his wine.

"Alright," Ryan walked farther in. "Hey, H." Horatio looked up, nodded, and returned to his journal. Laila set the wine into the fridge to chill, then looked out to see what Ryan was doing. He was walking around, looking at her apartment. He had an envious look in his eye as he saw her television. Laila had to stifle a chuckle, gesturing for Horatio to go see what Ryan was doing.

"Mister Wolfe, how has everything been?" He asked, motioning for Ryan to sit across from him.

"What, since you saw me yesterday?" Ryan laughed. "Fine, this place is huge. I can see why you moved in."

"It does have its charms." Horatio acknowledged. His eyes caught hers and Laila could feel herself blush when he smirked. She chuckled, and instead of going over there, she moved to the refrigerator to grab a clear plastic bag full of potatoes. She did keep the water barely on so she could hear their conversation.

"Listen, H. Thanks for inviting me." Ryan's voice was just barely hearable over the water. Laila frowned and turned the pressure lower. She busied her hands with washing the potatoes, her ears straining to hear them. "I mean you didn't have to or anything."

"Ryan, stop." Horatio's voice was strong, it carried over the sound of the sink. "We're friends outside of work, it's not that big of a deal." The water began to get hotter, and Laila tried to scrub the russet potatoes faster. Finally, the last one. She turned the water off, moving the potatoes from the sink to a clean cutting board. Actually, it was the same board the turkey was on but she had washed it. Still listening to the ongoing conversation she pulled a sharp knife from her rather extensive collection.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Ryan conceded. Laila began to cut the potatoes, leaving the skin on. The skin tended to provide a nice little crunch in the mashed potatoes. "Still, it's different seeing you outside of work."

"Hmph," Horatio snorted. "Just because you work under me Ryan doesn't mean we can't meet outside of work." _Ah, the man who wants to impress his boss. I've known a few of those before._ Laila chuckled quietly to herself, filling a large pot with hot water, salting it slightly, and setting it on to boil. She left it there, she would spot the steam, and walked over. Horatio and Ryan were chatting over the coffee table, and Laila was suddenly struck by the similarities. Ryan was wearing basically the same thing as Horatio, a buttoned up shirt, collar button casually undone, slacks, and a sport-coat. His hair was shorter though, and she noticed how he would constantly glance around the room. It was like he was cataloguing everything in his mind, remembering exactly what the room was like. Horatio had said something about Ryan having a slight case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but she had never thought she would have noticed it.

"Relax Ryan," She said, walking over to the pair. "We're just spending the holiday together, I highly doubt anyone is going to get mad at you about that." Ryan snorted, turning to look over at the bookcases.

"These all your's?" He asked.

"Half are Horatio's." Laila laughed, settling herself on the arm of Horatio's chair.

"You guys really like to read, huh?" Ryan continued.

"Well, you can learn a lot from them." Horatio said. He placed the journal he had been reading back on the shelf. He and Ryan began to discuss some case they had worked that involved fingerprints from fruit, hidden cameras, and a bikini. Laila could barely follow what was being said, but she still found it hilarious how Ryan would crack up halfway through telling his part and Horatio would duck his head to hide his own laughter. The two of them got along well, and Laila could see that Horatio had really taken the young man under his wing. She knew that Ryan and Eric were friends, so Ryan was obviously happy with his current job. _Good, people should work where they're happy._ She could hear a rapping on the door, and she could see the steam rising off of her potatoes.

"Just a second!" She called out, running into the kitchen to turn the heat down. The potatoes needed to be soft, they didn't need to disintegrate! She got that settled and went to the door. Denice and Jeff were there, and she was promptly greeted by her mother latching herself onto her middle. "Hi, Mom."

"Laila, is everything going?" Denice asked, letting go and stepping inside. Laila nodded, then reached up to hug her father. He chuckled, lifted her off the ground slightly, then set her down. "Well who is this?" Laila turned around. Her mother was looking at Ryan and Horatio, still chatting in their chairs.

"Mrs. Collins, Mr. Collins, this is my colleague, Ryan Wolfe." Horatio said. "Ryan, this is Denice and Jeff Collins, Laila's parents."

"Pleasure." Ryan offered from his chair. Denice graced him with a smile before looking around.

"Wow, quite the place you have here." She said, turning her head to take in everything. Laila couldn't help but grin at the similarities to Ryan.

"Yeah, it keeps my head dry." Laila joked, returning to the kitchen. Ah, there was so much to do. Chop onions, fry bacon, and get things ready for gravy. Plus, she had to grease a pan for those biscuits she had bought. Oh, there was too much to make. Horatio could deal with everyone, she just had to talk to him really quick.

"Hey, Horatio can you come help me with something in the bedroom?" She said, walking past him. He excused himself and she could hear his footsteps following her. Once he got in she shut the door.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, looking her over.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just, just don't talk to my parents too much about what you do. DNA from semen, finding caches of pornography, shootouts, it's not exactly the kind of this that goes on in small town Iowa." She told him. He had told her about several cases, most of which involved people leaving behind traces of themselves and their hidden vices. While Laila didn't care too much about if her mother approved of Horatio, she did want her to at least like him. Just a little.

* * *

"Alright, I won't." Horatio assured her, placing his hands on her shoulders and running them down. He truly enjoyed the white blouse she was wearing, a line of dark beads sewn around the slightly low-cut collar. It was soft, but he could feel her body heat through it. She hugged him, pressing her head to his chest. He smiled, wrapping a hand protectively around her head.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Horatio." She said, smiling.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Laila. Now, let's get through it." He told her, moving his hand to her waist and steering her outside. Jeff and Ryan were talking, and Denice was examining the titles in their library. Horatio could see a small furrow appearing in her brow, and she pulled out a book to examine it more closely. Horatio gave an inward groan, it was one of his. A book on the newest DNA techniques, such as testing biologicals found with ultraviolet light. It made explicit mention of semen and vaginal contributions, blood, urine, fecal matter. All the little things that your body left behind, that could be used to track you. All the things that Laila feared would scare her mother. "Denice."

"Horatio, this is quite the collection you have." Denice said, turning back to the bookshelves. Horatio lightly took the book from her and re-shelved it. He ran his fingers over the books, instead selecting a historical novel that he had seen Laila read several times. He offered it to her.

"Yes, but Laila has most of them. This is one of her favorites." He smiled, wishing he had his sunglasses to hide his eyes. Horatio had always worried that he either revealed too much or too little with his eyes.

"Oh, I've read this on too! I have got to go talk to her about it." Denice smiled, then walked over to the kitchen. Horatio could smell the onions being chopped and the bacon being fried. He would be very surprised to see what exactly all of that went into. With Denice's attention diverted, he approached Ryan and Jeff. The two men had taken up the usual position for a man on Thanksgiving. They were both on the couch, watching football on the television, and occasionally Ryan shifted his attention to his phone.

Jeff glanced up, "Hey Lieutenant, get us a couple of beers?" Horatio smirked, then nodded. He walked to the kitchen, finding Laila and her mother engrossed in a conversation about the book while Laila kept trying to keep the onions from being burned in their pan. She looked up when he rapped on the wall.

"Got any beer?" He mouthed, trying to slip by.

"Fridge." She mouthed back, turning back to Denice who had been keeping up a conversation about their heroine of the novel. Horatio edged past, turning to the fridge. He opened the door, glancing around. The thing was packed, leftovers stacked on shelves, the pie cooling below, milk snug in the door. And just below the milk was a shelf full of light beer. He grabbed three of them, then closed the thing and made his way back. Ryan and Jeff were both accepting of a cold beer, as was he. They popped them open, then lost themselves in the technicalities of the game. Horatio found that he enjoyed hearing Ryan's opinions on a subject different from forensics. The young CSI sagely noted how a team had a tendency to run a certain play multiple times, and that they should switch before the other team noticed. Jeff had laughed when Ryan was proved right and the opposing team managed to get a interception the next time they ran the play.

"Fuuummmbbblllee!" Jeff crowed, sounding for all the world like a Mexican soccer announcer. Horatio noted yet another similarity to Laila, she too would often get over-invested in a simple game. Ryan jumped about a foot in the air. He looked over at Horatio sheepishly.

"Easy Jeff." Horatio mutterred, sipping his beer. Jeff just laughed him off, his attention already returning to the game. Horatio just shook his head, and soon found the rest of the afternoon passing. He was glad Ryan was there, and he saw how Ryan enjoyed Jeff's stories of his shop back in Iowa. In return, Jeff was attentive when Ryan explained some of the particulars of his own job. Both men seemed to have a healthy respect for each other. Horatio was just noticing it was sunset when Jeff gave him a light punch on his shoulder.

"Hey, come outside and check the turkey with me." He ordered, heaving himself off the couch. Horatio followed, standing by the balcony railing while Jeff closed the door. He could see the ocean, already dark as the sun set behind the building. Occasionally a wave would break, and he could catch a flash of gold as it caught the sun.

"So, Laila defended you pretty well this morning." Jeff grunted, pulling the top off of the grill. "She likes you."

"Yes." Horatio offered back simply.

"And you, you like her right?" Jeff questioned. He picked up the meat thermometer from its place on the table and stuck it into the turkey.

"Of course." _We are living together._

"Then I'm going to tell you one thing." Jeff said. He turned quickly, fisting his hand in Horatio's shirt. "If you hurt my daughter, I will find you." His brow crinkled. "And I will hurt you as bad as you've hurt her."

"It won't come to that." Horatio told him, easing Jeff's hand out of his shirt. "I would never hurt her."

"Hmph," Jeff grunted, releasing him. "You know, for some reason I believe you. Then again, I believed Dennis Morgan, and caught him fooling around behind her."

"I take it you hunted him down to?"

"Hah! Laila got him. Baked him some cookies and put laxatives in them. Poor boy crapped himself in front of the whole school." Jeff laughed. "Laila then explained to everyone who had gathered exactly what he had done. Even called out the girl he was cheating on her with."

"Really?"

"Yep, thought Denice was going to go bald. Laila was the talk of the town until Dennis started cheating on his current girlfriend and she spray painted his truck. Poor boy could never keep it in his pants." Jeff chuckled. He leaned down and examined the thermometer. "Go tell he the turkey's done, will you?"

"Sure." Horatio stepped inside, passing Denice setting the dining table. He found Laila in the kitchen, pulling out a tray of biscuits. "The turkey's done."

"Good! I was getting hungry." She said, setting the tray on the top of the oven.

"So, I had a very interesting chat with your father." He smirked, leaning against the counter.

"Oh God, did he bring up Dennis?"

"He does this often I take it?" Horatio asked.

"Oh, it's his favorite. He just loves to tell it." Laila shook her head. Horatio noticed a bit of a bite had come into it. He walked behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He leaned next to her ear.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, it's just scared off some guys in the past. Let me guess, he also said he'd come after you if you did anything to me?"

"Yes." Horatio chuckled. "But, I have no plans on doing anything on those lines." Laila smiled, then began to transfer the biscuits from the pan to a plate. She took the plate out, and he followed. Denice had set the table for five, wine glasses at the ready for the bottle of red wine Ryan had brought. Jeff passed by him with the turkey on a large platter. Horatio busied himself with bringing out little items, the mashed potatoes, butter, honey, until everything was ready. Jeff had carved the turkey, bringing out moist breast meat on a plate. Horatio sat down on the left of Laila, Ryan on her right, and her parents across from her.

"Jeff, honey, why don't you say grace?" Denice said, holding his hand. Horatio took his other one, and soon they all had their hands linked and their heads bowed.

"Dear Lord, we thank you for the food you have placed before us. We thank you for our family here, and the friends we have met. Amen." Jeff intoned, sincere in his simplicity. They all echoed his 'amen' and promptly dug in. He grabbed a couple pieces of turkey, a spoonful of mashed potatoes, a helping of stuffing, and a biscuit. The turkey was perfect, moist and juicy. He could taste the onions and garlic, the smoke that had cured the meat. The potatoes followed suit, a soft mash with chives, onions and bacon mixed in.

She would have to make those potatoes more often.

Apparently his thoughts were echoed around the table. Ryan was bugging Laila to write down the recipe for the potatoes and Laila was trying to get Denice to email it to her. Denice was laughing, and Jeff barely glanced up from his plate. Horatio halved the biscuit, buttered it, slathered it with honey, and popped a piece in his mouth. This would certainly go down in his books as one of the best Thanksgivings he'd ever had.

Nobody was fighting, the only yelling was laughter ringing out. There was plenty of food, he had no doubt about there being leftovers, and he was with the people he liked. His own little family. Plus, there was pie.

* * *

Laila leaned back, stuffed with her food. There was a little space left for dessert though. She scrubbed the plate in front of her, resting in some hot soapy water. Ah, she hated dishes. But this was the last one, and then there would be pie. She rinsed the plate, then went to the fridge. Jeff had pulled off all of the meat and had taken the carcass to the trash outside. Horatio appeared in the entryway, his eyes already locked on the pie as she pulled it out.

"Hey everybody, come get some pie before Horatio eats it all." She called out, already slicing it. Horatio already had his piece, topped with whipped cream, and was out before anyone else was even there. She could hear his moans of delight coming from the couch. After everyone was served, she bit into her piece. It was good, the bite of the spices coming through the pumpkin, and the pumpkin toning the bite down. The crust was salty, flaky, and oh so good. Ryan apparently agreed, and was already headed back for seconds. Laila chuckled a little when he caught Horatio cutting himself a larger slice.

"Laila, sweetie thank you for dinner." Denice said. "I've got to get your father back before he falls asleep on your couch." Laila stood ad hugged her parents, lingering a little against her father's warm chest.

"Now, don't forget about our spa day. I'll make all the reservations." She told Denice, kissing her before they left. Ryan excused himself soon after, until it was just her and Horatio. She sat down next to him on the couch, leaning into him. "It certainly sounded like you enjoyed the pie."

"I did." He told her, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned back, enjoying the warmth.

"Would you think I was crazy if I said I didn't want today to end?"

"No, I could see why you would want that."

"Yeah, but we have to go back to reality sometime, don't we?" Laila muttered.

"Yes, but we can still remember today."


	10. Chapter 10

Horatio Caine was awakened by his girlfriend shoving his shoulder, mumbling 'phone', and taking the majority of the comforter he had covered himself with. He groaned, suddenly chilled, and reached for the phone. "Caine."

"Horatio, you've got to get down here. It's insane. Calleigh's out with Alex at some mall, Natalia's gone down to a shopping center, and Ryan is coming with me to an assault over at a Wal-mart. If you don't get in, Valera's gonna be the only one here." Eric's voice was harsh, his words coming fast. Horatio puled his phone away for a second and glanced at the clock. Just past seven and things were already going to hell.

"I'll be there in thirty, Eric. Hold down everything until then." Horatio ordered, then hung up. He yawned, scraping the sleep from his eyes. Ah, Black Friday. The Bane of Law Enforcement. He walked to the bathroom, splashed warm water onto his face, then quickly changed into a fresh shirt and jacket. He drew on a pair of socks, then carried his shoes in his hands. Socked feet padded quietly over plush carpet, going closer to the bed. Laila had apparently fallen asleep, again. He smirked, enjoying the peacefulness on her face. He leaned down, kissed her forehead, and then softly stepped out. He stopped at the entry table to fasten his gun and badge onto his side, grabbed the Hummer keys, and left.

The drive to the police headquarters in Doral was relatively quick, the majority of cars being parked at malls, shopping centers, boutiques or hidden away in garages and carports while their owners slept away the terror that was Black Friday. His Hummer passed older cars, their drivers often the retirees that Florida was so often associated with. He approached the complex, flashing his badge to the gate guard to identify himself. He pulled forward, then parked the Hummer against the curb of the roundabout.

"H, welcome to the party." Eric said, looking up when Horatio stepped off of the elevator. Ryan was pacing, and stopped sharply when he saw Horatio.

"Delko, I don't think it's a party if people wind up getting hurt." Wolfe retorted, stepping up to the elder CSI.

"You haven't been to many parties, Ryan." Eric retorted, walking towards the elevator. "The funnest ones always end with a black eye."

"Gentlemen." Horatio's voice was quiet, but it carried an authority that both men instantly responded to. They stopped and faced their Lieutenant. "Be careful out there. People aren't as careful as they should be."

"Don't worry, H. We're fine." Eric laughed, stepping into the elevator with Wolfe behind him. Horatio watched the doors close with a slight twinge. He knew that the media blew stories out of proportion, but this day did cause him some worry. He'd heard of trampling, stampeding crowds the didn't care if there was a person in front of them. Stabbings, shootings, physical altercations. He didn't want his team getting hurt.

"Hey there Horatio." Valera called from the DNA lab. "Looks like you and I get to have all the fun today." Horatio smirked as he stepped into the lab. The glass walls did give the place an open feeling, but after Natalia's accident with the glass table, he had brought in a slate topped lab table. No way the centrifuge would shatter that. Valera gestured to a file nearby. "Fingerprints dropped that off. Night shift said you put a rush order for it."

"Thank you, Maxine." Horatio said, lifting the file. It contained pictures of the receipt, credit card, and shot glass. There was also a photo of the partials from the VIP pass he had taken from Vitonio. The fingerprints were easiy visible, latents that had been fumed with superglue. The glue had stuck to the oil in the print, leaving behind a perfect impression. The process took a few hours, hence why he had to leave it to night shift. He hated to leave his cases to the night shift, but sometimes things had to be rushed. Behind the photos was a printout of a ten card, all the prints from the VIP pass and the other items lined up. The top, where a name would usually be, instead read 'Unknown Male'. Beneath that, in bold type, were the words 'Positive Match'.

He smiled, that was just what he wanted. He walked to his office, gently setting the file on his desk. He tented his fingers, then leaned back and thought. Richard had given the card to Vitonio, to entice a sale for the stolen horse. He had received $20,000 in cash, and had been spotted approaching a cocaine dealer. He remembered the massive amount of cash in the bag the dealer had, alongside the massive amount of coke. He reached for his desk phone, quickly dialing for a department.

"Questionable Documents." A pleasant voice said.

"It's Horatio, how much was in that bag that was brought in last night? The one with the cocaine." He asked.

"Let's see. Bag was brought in with a Clay Dixon. Had exactly, hmm, let's see. Twenty-three thousand, four hundred dollars. Anything else?"

"No, thank you." He set the phone back in its cradle. A slow smile spread across his face. It was time for the part of the job that he hated. Oh, how he despised those lawyers, scuttling around, sniffing for anything whenever a cop came to get a warrant. Then the lawyers would run to the media, yapping about all the supposed scandals that floated around his lab. Half the time, once he had gotten a warrant from a judge for a high-profile suspect, it was on the news at six. He sighed, looking over at the clock. He'd have to leave the lab, running across the complex to the small courthouse. That meant turning his lab over to Valera or one of the other analysts. For fifteen minutes though, he could handle that.

Horatio stood up, smoothed his jacket, and girded himself for going into the lion's den.

* * *

Laila shifted herself around, enjoying the slow burn that came with stretching muscles. Sheri, her usual brunette hair dyed a fierce red, mirrored her movement. Laila noted how her legs had tangled themselves together. It was only a matter of time. The other people in their yoga class were all struggling with the move, a move that involved twisting your back and stretching an arm over your head.

"Envision reaching for the stars! The heavens!" Their instructor called out from his mat. Laila pictured the night sky above her, her fingers just grasping the cool surface of Orion's belt. It was peaceful, quiet, serene. That illusion was shattered when Sheri fell with an 'oomph' onto her mat.

Laila stifled a chuckle. "You okay over there?"

"Shut up." Sheri growled, resuming her attempt to contort her body into the pose. This time Laila couldn't hold in her laughter, she began to giggle. Her instructor looked over, his brows furrowing at her laughter. She quieted, deciding that she would give Sheri plenty when they went out to lunch. Her friend's blue eyes cut over, and Sheri gave a self-satisfied smirk.

"It's not my fault you can't do this."

"And it's not my fault you stretch like a Russian contortionist." Sheri snapped back. The instructor looked up again, but shook his head instead of coming over. He assumed a lotus position, and instructed everyone to meditate for fifteen minutes. Laila brought her feet underneath her and closed her eyes. She tried to free her mind from everything, the events from two nights ago that still haunted her. Laila had tried to fight it, to deny that it had scared her, but she still felt frightened.

She was falling, falling through the night sky. Royal blue, midnight blue, indigo and violet. The only thing that broke the blue was the soft light of the moon, a breath that whispered over her skin and lit her hair, and the small flashes of starlight, winking, gentle, that enticed her closer. She wasn't falling anymore, it was like she was floating. Floating among the stars, both above and below her as the moon watched. The only thing that moved her was a current, some current that flowed through the heavens where she was lingering. Ah, this little plane she had brought herself to was detached from everything, all her worries.

"Now, come back. Breathe the world in, exhale your worries. Breathe everything in, exhale everything holding you down." The instructor's voice drew her out, and she opened her eyes. She regretted that decision instantly, the harsh fluorescent lighting far different from the cool night she had been in. She blinked a few times, shook her head, and stretched her arms. Sheri actually appeared to be dozing. Laila leaned over and lightly punched her arm. Sheri cracked an eye at her, then snorted.

"How about lunch?" Laila asked as they walked out. She and Sheri were both wearing the tank tops that they favored for yoga, and were standing in the women's locker room, fixing their hair.

"Let's go to that bistro, the one just down the street."

"We go there every time."

"So?" Sheri laughed. Laila shrugged, and followed her out. With their gym bags slung over their shoulders, they walked outside. A light breeze was blowing through Miami, a little cool down from their typically temperate fall. They sat down in the patio of the bistro, and quickly out in an order for some tea and a couple of salads. Sheri fluffed out her bobbed hair and leaned back. "So, who's this guy you're with?"

"Tactful." Laila grunted. She took a sip of tea before replying. "His name's Horatio Caine."

"Isn't he that cop that's always on the news?"

"Yes, he does find himself there, on occasion." Laila sighed. Horatio was dedicated to his cases, and although she knew he despised the media, that dedication sometimes required him to ask for the public's help. That asking usually came through an interview or press conference.

"He was the one at the office that day, right?" Sheri didn't need to say what 'that day' was. They both knew, and neither wanted to speak of it.

"Yeah, he was."

"He was really nice that day. Oh, is that one guy single? The kind of Cuban looking guy?" Sheri asked, her eyebrows going up. "He was really cute."

"I'm not even going to answer that."

"Oh come on, just a friend of a friend thing."

"Well, if we're talking boyfriends, what about you and Chris? You still together?" Laila tried to change the subject, nodding to the waiter as he dropped off their salads. She could see Sheri wrinkle her nose, as if she had smelled something bad.

"Please, I left him a week ago. He was so clingy." Sheri snapped a grape tomato up, and smirked. "Quit evading. I know you let him move in. He answered the phone when I called you once."

"Alright, alright." Laila held up her hands, surrendering. "We met years ago. Then he left for New York, and I didn't see him again until a few months ago. The rest is history." She smiled, and gulped down some tea.

Sheri leaned her head on her hand. "And, when can I meet him? Is he coming to opening night?"

"I'm working on that." Laila sighed. "He's not the clubbing type." Sheri laughed, and quickly drew the attention of some of the other patrons. Laila flicked a piece of lettuce at her to shut her up. Sheri shot her a look, but quieted down. They discussed other subjects, the upcoming Christmas season and all the advertising that it entailed. When they were done, Laila bid her friend goodbye, promising to see her later this week and at the opening of The Speak.

"You had better get him to come." Sheri said, releasing her from her hug. "I have to meet him."

* * *

"Listen, Lieutenant Caine I'm telling you the same thing I've told everyone who wanted to see Judge Mathers. He's on personal leave, just for the weekend, in Key Largo. I can't issue any warrants for you until the Judge returns." Debbie, a secretary, told him.

"Ms. Carough, you know I can't go to anyone else." Horatio sighed. There were only a few judges that kept their offices in the complex, and Mathers was always willing to sign off on his warrants. The two other judges regarding him skeptically, often stonewalling him when he tried to go after some evidence.

"Caine, I can get it done Monday. For now, work on something else. I know your team got called out for about five different cases. Work on them, interrogate some witness, just put this one out of your mind until Monday." Debbie set the folders she was carrying down with a huff. Her desk phone began to ring and she answered it angrily, completely shutting Horatio out. He sighed and brought a hand up to rub his temple. He reached into his pocket, withdrew his cell phone and walked back to his lab.

"Hey, Frank pull those two club hoppers out of the drunk tank and into an interview room." He asked over the phone. Frank responded affirmatively, and they were waiting for Horatio when he stepped in. Frank met him outside.

"Horatio, shouldn't we be interrogating Dixon instead of these two?" Frank asked, scuffing his shoe along the tile.

"We can hold Dixon for awhile Frank, we've got him for dealing. These two, we don't have these two in on any other charges aside from drunk and disorderly."

"She's not pressing charges?"

"Truth be told, Frank, I haven't asked." Horatio shrugged.

"No better time than the present." Frank mused, and Horatio found himself dialing his phone again. It rang for a few seconds before Laila answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey Laila, I've got a quick question for you. And I need an answer now." Horatio spoke quietly. "Do you want to press charges against the guys from the other night?"

"Hmm," Laila went quiet for a few minutes. "Horatio, I know this is going to sound odd, but I don't. I mean, they didn't get to spend Thanksgiving with their families, and frankly, that almost a punishment in and of itself. Plus, I really don't want to get involved in some legal battle."

"Are you sure? They did hurt you, remember?"

"Horatio, sweet vengeful Horatio, I know. Let's just say I'm in a forgiving mood or something. I'll, I'll try to explain later." Horatio had to smirk at her wording. "Listen, I've got to go. I'll see you tonight."

"Alright." Horatio sighed. "I'll see you later." He hung up, then shook his head when Frank asked him about the charges. "She doesn't want to charge them."

"She does realize that one of them almost killed her, right?" Frank had a dumbfounded look on his face. Horatio nodded, but walked past him into the room. An officer stood in the corner, overseeing the two of them. He glanced at the two men, who had obviously sobered up from the last time he saw them. They both looked rather frightened. Horatio pulled out his sunglasses, fidgeting with them.

"Listen, Mr. officer, sir, please don't lock us up." One said, Horatio believed it was Charlie. "We-we were just wasted. We didn't mean to do anything."

"Yeah, we just got a little out of control." Gyp replied. Horatio raised a single eyebrow.

"Out of control? You assaulted a woman, tried to kill her." Horatio didn't let any emotion into his voice, and he glared at the two of them. "You two could very well get a sentence upwards of fifteen years."

"Please," Charlie sobbed. "I don't want to go to jail." Gyp didn't even respond, just looking at his cuffed hands. Horatio had seen many men go like that, silent, staring off at something. It was when they had lost all hope, that they knew what was going to happen. Horatio ground his teeth, wishing that he could give them exactly what they deserved. He wanted to grab Gyp by the collar of his over-priced T-shirt, throw him up against the wall, and show him that he should never have gone after Laila. He wanted them to learn that you never abused a woman around Horatio Caine. _Why did she not want to press charges? They deserve it, they deserve everything that the justice system can throw at them._

"You won't be." He spat out. "The woman you attacked has decided not to press charges." Horatio growled. He spread his arms on the table though, and shoved his face right into theirs. "But if I ever see you around her, or going after any other woman, I will see that you are put away. Put away and never allowed out." Horatio looked up at the officer. "Get them out of here." The officer nodded, jerking them to their feet. Horatio stepped outside, sighing.

"Horatio. Should we bring Dixon in?" Frank asked, walking up. Horatio furrowed his brow, unsure of how to respond. Dixon wasn't going anywhere. He had already been charged with possession, distributing, and would not be going anywhere.

"Let him sit Frank." Horatio ordered. "He can stew over the weekend, and we'll see what he gives us Monday."

"Any specific reason for that?"

"The second it's recorded that he dealt and Richard Gibson was involved I'm getting a warrant and heading to Gibson's house." Horatio left Frank, instead taking Debbie's advice and working on the cases his team was bringing in. They were enough to keep him occupied for the rest of the day, until he and his exhausted team could go home. He drove home and walked in. Laila was sitting on the couch, her laptop in front of her. She had spread a blanket over her shoulders, and seemed to be very focused on what she was doing. He walked up behind her, finding her computer open to an internet page advertising The Speak and an instant messaging window to the side.

"Hey Horatio." She muttered, quickly typing out a reply to the message she had just recieved.

"What are you doing?" He asked, leaning his head against hers.

"Working, I'm trying to get this reporter to come down next week. I want her to do an interview, a whole piece on the club."

"Who exactly?"

"Erica Sykes, this lady from CBS." She said, replying again. "Perfect! She's ready, willing, and able." Horatio wrinkled his nose, pursing his lips.

"Be careful around her. She can twist anything the way she wants it." Horatio warned, turning to pull his gun and badge off. When he turned back around, Laila had closed her laptop and had perched her chin on her knees.

"Why?"

* * *

Laila didn't need any clarification on exactly what 'why' meant. But how could she explain it? How could she put into words exactly what had been running through her mind this afternoon? That she was worried for him, that she didn't want to spend this month's rent on legal fees? That she didn't want his job to be put into jeopardy if it came out what she had been doing for him? She took a deep breath and tried.

"I just want it to be over. I don't want them being any part of us." She could feel herself beginning to cry. "I don't want to remember that night. I don't want to remember that feeling when he grabbed me, the helplessness. I just want to block it out." Now there were tears, and she could feel Horatio lower himself onto the couch by her. "And I know it's stupid, and I know you came, but I don't want to, never ever again." She could feel Horatio's arm come around her shoulders, bringing her face to his chest. He smoothed her hair, shushing her as he held her.

"It's alright. I can understand that." He murmured, and Laila just let it out of her, all the stress that she had tried to lose in yoga. The majority of it had vanished, but there was still some little seed that had decided to come out at this moment. She knew it was healthy to get it out, that she shouldn't have held it in over Thanksgiving, and that now all she wanted was Horatio and the comfort that he provided.

He was more than willing, and she knew that he would hold her throughout the night, if need be.

* * *

**AN: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I'll be posting a quick Christmas story soon, and for reference it takes place just after Repairing the Present. Don't worry though, this story isn't done yet!**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: So, sorry for the wait. We had a livestock show we had to go to, and some friends from California staying over so I didn't have much time to write. Enjoy!**

* * *

Monday morning dawned early for Horatio. He found himself in his office, shifting through the pile of paperwork that had managed to accrue over the weekend. He figured that half to three-quarters of his career had been devoted to paperwork. Filing, writing up reports, submitting articles, and, of course, filing for warrants. He remembered going down into the evidence archives, and they were quite large, but they had nothing on the sheer size and mass of the county's Criminal Archives. Every single piece of paper that had been written by an officer was copied, numbered, and filed away. Fortunately, the archive staff was very good at their job so any piece of information from past cases was readily available per request.

He looked up at the sudden knock on his door. An older man, his salt and pepper hair combed back stood there, freshly tanned knuckles having just gotten Horatio's attention. They were both dressed alike, but the man buttoned his shirt up all the way and wore a tie. Horatio preferred a more laid back appearance, but he did enjoy a bit of style. Miami was known for her style, and Horatio found that he enjoyed a well-made suit. He rose from his chair, a hand out to shake.

"Judge Mathers, it's very nice to see you again." He said, gladly shaking the Judge's hand. "How were the Keys?"

"Great, and I'm sorry about that." Mathers shrugged. "Should have let you guys know. Anyway, you give me that warrant, I'll review it and have it in to you by lunch."

"Actually, I'd prefer to get a little more evidence behind it. I'll bring it in later."

"You know what you do Horatio." The judge held up his hands. "I can review it whenever you want." Mathers laughed as he backed out of Horatio's office, and Horatio knew what the man would do now. He'd get into his office, papers filed neatly on his desk courtesy of Debbie. He would draw on his official robe, take the papers for his cases today, and spend the next few hours handing down sentences.

"Frank, get Dixon into an interview room." Horatio ordered, stepping out to get a cup of coffee from the break room. The balding Texan got up from his desk, already calling a few regular officers to bring the dealer in. H mixed a few packets of creamer and a couple envelopes of sugar into his coffee as he walked back to his office. He sipped it, then reached for the recorder he kept in his desk. With it primed to record he slipped it into his pocket. He reviewed the file on his desk, sliding it into his hand as he walked to the interview room. Dixon was sitting there, looking haggard. His blonde hair was greasy, eyes strained as he looked through the glass wall to Horatio. A gruff stubble had grown during the few days, and Horatio found himself glad that Dixon's appearance had deteriorated. The man might give him what he wanted for a shower and shave.

"Clay Dixon, brought in once before for possession." Horatio tossed the file onto the table, and held it open with one finger while he looked through the info. He pressed the record button on the reorder, ready for Dixon to sing. The silence began to build.

"I paid the fine last time." Clay grunted. "I can pay it again."

"Really? The fine this time," Horatio smirked as he closed the file. "is fifteen to twenty." Horatio had faced down cocky punks like this before, and Dixon had just admitted that he had been caught before. That meant he was sloppy. If Horatio pushed him the right way, he could get a piece of evidence that he could use.

"I'm sure I can cut a deal."

"You must have a lawyer coming." If lawyering up wasn't an admission of guilt, he didn't know what was.

"One of the best."

"Well, let's have a little chat before he gets here." Horatio looked out of the glass, towards the morning sun shining brightly in. It was a golden morning, the kind of morning that tempted the awake with a walk along the beach, a warm coffee, and a good book. He couldn't afford those luxuries. These mornings, he knew that beneath that golden glow lurked a darkness, an undercurrent of violence that ran through Miami. "Where'd the money come from?"

"That all you want?" Clay laughed, an arrogant sound. "Not my supplier, just the money?"

"I wouldn't even be getting involved unless there had been a murder. You'd usually be under Detective Tripp."

"Murder, well, there's not much I can tell you about that." Clay leaned back in his chair, lifting his cuffed hands. "But, if you cut me a deal-" He broke off as a shorter, thinly haired man burst in. From his high-priced suit and briefcase Horatio could only see this man as a lawyer.

"Not another word." The man snapped. "Lieutenant Caine, my client has no affliation with this case you are working. I know for a fact that you are looking for a murdering, and I can have witnesses in to attest to his location during the time of the murder."

"We found you client with over twenty thousand dollars, and I happen to have a murder that was committed to steal a racehorse to sell for that same amount of money. A racehorse that was sold by a person familiar to both your client," Horatio pointed at Clay, "and to my witness. Plus he also had a large quantity of cocaine on his person and was reported selling it. That alone is enough to keep him here."

"Are you just pulling every man with twenty-thousand dollars in?"

"Listen, the county attorney is coming in soon. Hash out the details with her, but he's going to give me the information that I want. In fact, there she is." Horatio put a hand on the man's shoulder to turn him towards the professional looking brunette coming towards them. The two of them walked off to the side of the hall, out of the room, spouting legal talk that Horatio couldn't quite follow. He turned back to his suspect.

"So, you want to know where the money came from?" Clay glanced towards his lawyer, still out in the hallway arguing. Horatio could see the desperation in his eyes, the desire to get out of there even if he disobeyed his legal counsel. "Gibson, it was Richard Gibson. He owed me, twenty large. Said he'd get a lot of clients at some big party he was hosting, needed a lot of blow. He didn't bring in any, and I was out twenty grand of product."

"And you needed him to kill Patrice Evans for the horse?"

"Hell no, Richard didn't kill anyone. Couple of my guys, think they're Tony Montana or some shit. They have a habit of bringing in pieces and trying to sell them, alongside the coke. They brought in a horse, and Richard was always going on about this guy he knew that ran a track. I told Rich, you sell this horse, give me the money, and we're square."

"Who are the two guys that brought the horse in?" Horatio asked, his attention captured.

"I'm not telling you that until my lawyer tells me that I'm off." Clay spat at him. "Enjoy trying to figure that one out."

* * *

Laila met her mother on the curb of her hotel, regretting that she had not bought the convertible version. She was dressed in a breezy blue dress, as opposed to her mother who was wearing an older blouse and jeans. As her mother stepped in she smiled. "Mom, don't you have anything, fun?"

"Fun?"

"You know, something you love but never wear that often?"

"No, I did not bring anything 'fun'." Denice sighed. Laila giggled behind her hand as she pulled out onto the road, quickly driving to the freeway. They had set up appointments at a spa, fully prepared for a day of relaxation. She pulled off the freeway and headed for downtown Miami, towards the ocean. Rising against the blue sky, its Art Deco lines of windows affording it amazing views of Biscayne Bay, the Miami Four Seasons was a combination of hotel and condo. For about five million, you could get yourself a large condo, facing the ocean, high up above the hotel aspect. You would have staff to wait on you and a full service spa at your disposal. It was to the spa that Laila now directed her mother.

"Isn't this a little ..." Denice trailed off as they stepped inside the lobby. "opulent for us?" Gray granite was cool underfoot as Laila greeted the spa clerk. Giving her name for the reservation, the clerk quickly directed them back to the locker rooms. Robes and sandals were waiting for them. She removed her dress, folded it, and placed it underneath her purse. Laila had decided to wear her bathing suit, and had told her mother to do the same.

"Mom, just let me get something nice for you." Laila said as she drew on her robe, sighing at the softness of the thing. Off from the locker room was a sauna, private pool, and a whirlpool. Their treatments would start in a little while, until then they could relax. They went into the sauna, and Laila leaned back onto the wooden bench. It was blissfully warm, and with no humidity too. That wasn't something you often go in Florida. "So, how's Conger been?"

"Oh, you would not believe what has happened since you left. Jennie, Michael Crowley's daughter, she just got caught sneaking out with Trey King. Turns out she's four weeks late, and Michael is already forcing Trey to marry her. It was either that or he would have shot him. And Debbie was supposed to head off to TCU but then her mother found a stash of diet pills that she had been using. Oh, and-" Laila knew Denice wouldn't stop for awhile. She just let her go on, laughing at the little exploits of Conger. Apparently a married woman, her mother wouldn't say who, had been caught with the Reverend in his office, and her mother had already moved their flight up to Wednesday to get back and enjoy the scandal.

"You're leaving so soon?" Laila was shocked. She thought they would have stayed longer, she could have shown them so much more. The Miami art museum, beach, heck they could even come to The Speak. She wanted them to see how she was happy, what was going on in her life. She wanted them to see how kind Horatio was, how he cared for her. She wanted them to like him. She wanted their approval, just as every child does. She wanted to be told that she had made a good choice, that her parents were proud of her.

Did the social needs of Conger outweigh her needs?

_No, no you're just being selfish. You've had them here for a few days, and it's been wonderful. You shouldn't hog them to yourself, let them go home. The more work Dad gets at the shop, and the more Mom can get those ladies into the bakery and charge them for every cookie and coffee, the sooner they can come back. Or the sooner you can go home, and possibly bring Horatio. _

"I know it's not as long as we thought it would be, but we do have to go back." Denice said, her expression remorseful. "And, it seems that you've got everything under control down here." Laila laughed, but it was a hollow laugh. A laugh that only came about because she knew she wouldn't be able to change their plans. She leaned back then glanced up when the door opened. Two therapists stood there, both women.

"Hello, are you Laila and Denice Collins?" One of them asked. The nodded. "We're your therapists, I'm Michelle and this is Mikaela. If you would come with us, your scrubs are ready." Laila followed Michelle to a small room, the sound of waves crashing emanating softly from a speaker. It contained an area for her to change, a chair, and a large table. Hanging over the table was a metal rod, seven different shower heads hanging over the table. A metal curve ran around the table, and led to a drain. Michelle left her to change and get on the table. She untied the back of her top, letting it hang from her neck. She carefully arranged herself on the table, arms to her side and face cushioned by a pillow. When Michelle knocked, she called her in.

"Oh, you're all ready." Michelle bubbled happily. Laila could hear bottles clinking, bowls clacking as she brought them over to the table. "We're just going to get you started with some nice warm water." The therapist lifted a small plastic sheet over her hips, even for a full body treatment some areas were off limits. The shower heads started, a nice pulsing stream of water. Michelle guided the heads, occasionally running her hands down Laila's back to make sure her entire body got wet. Laila couldn't really see anything, her eyes had drifted shut as soon as the water turned on. The pressure from the Vichy shower felt like a massage, so relaxing. She could hear the water turn off. What she could feel though was a pair of hands, coated in a rough concoction of salt and herbs, scrubbing her back down. The bubbly little therapist kept up a stream of quiet chatter, discussing all the different attributes the salt and herbs had, and how exactly they would benefit her skin. Michelle obviously knew what she was doing, running her hands over Laila's back, sloughing off dead skin.

With a sigh, Laila gave herself over to the pleasure of having everything stripped off so that the new could come through.

* * *

The county attorney walked into Horatio's office with a huff. She sat in the armchair he kept in the corner, an old chair that had been in his office since he started working. It had probably been there years before he had even come. It was ripped, scuffed, and clashed with the new, modern decor of the lab. It was also the most comfortable thing he had ever sat in. For that sole reason it had survived Natalia's inquisition, where old furniture had been taken out and donated to charity. When Natalia had offered him some fancy ergonomic chair, he had politely declined. The modern chair, black leather and chrome, was not what he needed. Natalia could get the entire lab redone, new equipment for every department, but the chair stayed.

"Cathy, you look stressed." Horatio observed, looking up from his computer. He had been typing up a report of the new information the Dixon had given him, transcribing the audio word by word. The report would be printed out later, and attached to the file. The file would probably be submitted to the court as a piece of key evidence in the trial, so the report needed to lay out the evidence in a clear, concise manner that anyone could follow.

"No shit." Cathy retorted, leaning back in the chair. "Freaking Will D'Angelo is stonewalling me at every turn." Cathy's head jerked up, her eyes catching Horatio. "You couldn't arrest him for any reason, could you? Obstructing justice?"

"He hasn't given any reason. Just doing his job."

"Can you arrest him for that?"

"No, as much as I would like to." Horatio grunted. He looked at the warrant on his desk. "But there's a way to get around him. He's got clients, and clients know other dealers in his little circle." Horatio lifted the warrant for Cathy to see. "And I know of one of them. I just happen have a warrant here to search his residence for any and all drugs and drug paraphernalia. Backed up by Dixon confirming the suspicion on tape."

"Horatio Caine, you devil." Cathy chided, her eyes fastening on the warrant. "I want to be there when you haul this guy in. No way am I letting you have all the fun." Horatio assured her that he would make sure she was present, but that he really needed to go see the Judge to get the warrant approved. Cathy walked out, and Horatio left Eric in charge of the lab while he got the warrant filed.

"You need anything else H?" Eric asked when he told him. Eric was in the layout room, evidence from a different case spread out along the lit up table. Horatio noted clothes, shoes, belts, and jewelry on the table, photographs of a deceased jewelry salesman against the wall. Everything in the layout room had lights behind it, the light helped show every single detail.

"Just watch the lab Eric." Horatio told him. There wasn't much to it, just making sure that everyone was doing their job. Eric could even keep working on this case until he had a break, then he could make a quick round of the lab.

"You got it, boss." Eric gave him a mocking salute, then bent over to examine the light blue fabric he had stretched out with a magnifying glass. From the blood stains on it, it was obviously the salesman's. Horatio leaned over, quickly spotting a piece of evidence on the left edge, where Eric hadn't checked yet.

"Fiber on the lower left corner." He told him, letting the flustered criminologist wonder how he hadn't noticed that sooner.


	12. Chapter 12

"...enjoy trying to figure that one out." Clay Dixon's recorded voice rasped, then shut off as the tape stopped. Judge Mathers leaned back in his leather office chair, looking at the blue paper before him. The warrant was filled with small, clear printed writing, and signed by Horatio Caine. All it needed was the Judge's signature so that it could be executed. Horatio watched Mathers, a small smirk coming up as the judge grabbed his pen. With a flourish Mathers finished his signature, then slid the warrant over to Horatio.

"Couldn't ask for a tighter case." Mather said, smiling. His perfectly capped teeth gleamed. "An admission that a Gibson was involved with cocaine gives you a perfect reason to search his home."

"It does help to have airtight reasoning." Horatio smiled, folding the warrant up and tucking it in his coat pocket. He nodded goodbye to Mathers, smirked at a harried Debbie bustling in with a pile of papers, and quickly took his leave of the courthouse. He jogged back to the lab, collected Calleigh from her ballistics lab, and then drove the Hummer over to Coconut Grove, specifically to a home that was owned by Richard Gibson. It was a modern home, all light wood and glass. The wall around the back though was a six-ffot cinder block affair, spikes arranged along its top. The typical patrol officer followed them, to keep Richard out of the house while they searched it. He walked up the the door and rapped on it a few times. Calleigh stood next to him, her eyes flicking over the planter outside the door, the bronze handle. She snapped back to attention though when the door opened.

"Um, can I help you?" A man Horatio could only describe as a weasel stepped out. Well, weasel and part shark. The man's eyes shifted to look past him, out towards the patrol car and the Hummer. Horatio saw his eyes narrow, and his face immediately assumed an emotionless mask. This man had something to hide, and Horatio was going to find it.

"We have a warrant to search your residence." Horatio pulled the warrant out and handed it to him. Richard's eyes skimmed through it, widening slightly. He looked up at Horatio, and Horatio could already see the question forming in his mind. "We will search your house for any drug or drug related paraphernalia, while we are you will wait out here with Officer Blake."

"If you could just step out here, sir." Blake gestured for Richard to join him out on the sidewalk. Richard cast an angry glare at him, but he obeyed. Horatio held the door open for Calleigh, then followed her inside. He lifted his eyebrows as he glanced around. Although dominated by a large fireplace, the living room was sparsely furnished, but Horatio had a feeling that everything cost more than it appeared to. Everything was lightweight, easy to move, and every available surface had gadgets on it.

"This guy must live out of a Sharper Image." Calleigh commented, lifting a foot massager up from the floor. It was covered in suede, white fur peeking out from the opening.

"More money than sense." Horatio told her, walking towards a hallway. Just off the end of the hallway, which was dominated by a golden dragon sculpture on a black side table, was the bed room. He stepped in, immediately disgusted with what he saw. Clothes were piled around the edge of the room, silk sheets lay rumpled on the bed, and Horatio didn't even want to touch the package of condoms that lay open on the nightstand. He did however go through the drawers, ignoring the Playboys that were piled in it. There wasn't any cocaine there, nor in the dresser, nor in the bathroom. Once he was sure he had checked every spot, he went back out to the main area. Calleigh was standing there, a puzzled look on her face.

"I don't get it. I checked every place I could." She said, turning to fireplace. She sat on the edge. Horatio let her stew, she'd try something new once she had a chance to think it over. He went to the kitchen, lifting pots and pans and checking ever nook and cranny. He opened the freezer, his eyes finding a large plastic container filled with white powder. He lifted it out, examining it.

"Calleigh, take a look at this." He called out. The CSI came in, her head tilted curiously. Horatio held out the bowl. "In the freezer."

"Well, some people put baking soda in their freezers."

"Then let's test it." He smirked at Calleigh, picked up the chrome case she had brought with her and opened it. He drew on a pair of latex gloves, then lifted out a series of five small plastic bottles. Each had a label affixed to it, ranging from cobalt thiocyanate, distilled water, and glycerin to hydrochloric acid, and chloroform. He pulled out a small plastic test tube, put the powder in, added the water and glycerin to it, and then knocked a few grams of the cobalt in the tube. Once that was dissolved he shook it, then added the acid. He shook it, added chloroform, and shook it again.

He smiled when it turned blue.

"Cocaine, and a large amount of it." Calleigh noted. She pulled out a evidence plastic bag and camera. She set the bowl on the counter, set a scale by it, and took a couple of pictures before she dumped the cocaine into the bag. Horatio watched her perform with divided attention, his eyes continually being drawn to the fireplace. There was a rather large quantity of ash in it, and it hadn't been cold enough for a fire yet. Leaving Calleigh, he walked over to the fireplace. A set of tools was by it, including a brush. He picked up the brush and used it to sweep the ash to one side of the fireplace. He saw white underneath the gray. Encouraged he set the brush aside, used his hand to sweep the rest of the ash away, and drew out a large brick of cocaine wrapped in plastic. He heard Calleigh's boots clicking towards him.

"Looks like Mr. Gibson didn't intend to sell the product he got from Dixon." Horatio said, holding the brick out. He didn't even notice the ash on his jacket. Or how his shoes were covered in it.

"I can't believe I didn't notice that." Calleigh whispered. Horatio merely shrugged, gesturing for her to repeat her documenting process. He stripped off his gloves and walked out ot the front. Richard looked up when he stepped out, and Horato watched as the mask of innocence he had been wearing dropped when he saw the ash.

"Shit." Richard cursed, quickly stepping away from Officer Blake.

"Officer, please take Richard Gibson into custody for possession of a narcotic drug." Horatio ordered, drawing on his sunglasses.

* * *

Laila looked over her book at her mother. Denice looked better, her stress gone after the scrubs and wraps they had just enjoyed. Laila couldn't account for her mother, but she had enjoyed the sensation of being a human burrito after being painted with fruit extracts. The wrap had tingled, as had the scalp and chest massage she had received while the fruit enzymes did their work. Finally she had been unwrapped and was now waiting for their massage therapists to arrive. Then there would be lunch, followed by a facial and a mani-pedi.

She was currently sitting outside, in a small fenced in area off of the locker room. It was quite an enjoyable feeling, to be pampered with someone you cared about and just lay in the sun. Just to bask in the warmth that permeated Miami. Her mother was sitting in a plush chair, as opposed to the chaise lounge Laila had arranged herself over. A few other patrons were there, all women. The co-ed lounge was down the hall. Laila had seen a few men, and quite a bit of manscaping on those men. She couldn't see Horatio there, see him let these people he didn't know or trust take care of him.

To take care of Horatio, he had to trust you.

She knew he trusted her, he trusted her to cook for him, clothe him, care for him. All she tried to do was care for him. And he tried to do the same for her. They were just two people, trying to help each other. She enjoyed that, the care that had developed between them. The way that she could support Horatio, and him her. She closed her eyes, and gave a deep breath of happiness. Everything seemed to be going well, both in her personal and professional lives.

The Speak was on track to open on Thursday, and Erica Sykes was going to interview both her and Carl at the club on Tuesday. Laila frowned. Horatio had seemed to hate Ms. Sykes, well not hate. He didn't trust her, that much was obvious. His words about speaking cautiously rang particularly loud. With a little nod Laila decided she would speak frankly, and confirm that there was no trace of scandal around The Speak.

"Are you the Collins'?" A lilted voice asked. A pretty redhead was standing there, obviously an employee of the spa come to get them for their massages. Laila nodded, gesturing for her to come closer. "I'm Mae, and this is Lydia." Mae indicated a black haired woman that followed her out. "We're your therapists." Following their previous excursions, both Laila and Denice followed their therapists to the dimly lit rooms where their massages would be given.

"Now, just undress, lie on the table, and relax."

* * *

Richard Gibson had the look of a child that had been caught stealing cookies. He had been booked and was waiting for Horatio in an interview room, cuffed and ready for questioning. Horatio glanced at the file he was carrying, which carried Richard's booking papers, a photo of Clay Dixon, and a write out of Dixon's testimony. Satisfied that he had everything prepared he stepped inside. Cathy was already there, asking Richard a few preliminary questions. Horatio gestured for her to back off and let him handle the questioning.

"Mr. Gibson, I have to admit the fireplace was an inspired idea, hiding the cocaine in the ashes." Horatio wanted him to know that he had found everything Richard had tried to hide.

"I thought so." Richard grinned, trying to hide his anxiety.

"But my job is to find everything hidden, and I believe I am quite good at it." Horatio allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. Let Richard think Horatio was smug, proud of himself. It would make Richard feel small, insignificant. If he felt like another cog in the machine, he would be tempted to strike out, to make himself known as someone unique. To show that he knew more than Horatio expected.

Richard wanted to be special.

"Now, you know this man, correct?" Horatio slid Dixon's picture across the table. Richard glanced at it, then nodded. "And he was recorded as saying that you engineered the sale of a racehorse, in exchange for your debt being forgiven?" Richard nodded.

"Who brought in the horse?" Cathy interjected, breaking her silence.

"I can't, I can't tell you." Richard stammered. "They'll kill me if I tell you."

"So you know." Horatio smiled.

"They'll kill me."

"Mr. Gibson, your current place of residence is a holding cell. I don't think they can get through an entire police station." Cathy sounded frustrated, almost angry. Richard still shook his head, his frosted brown hair wiggling slightly.

"They'll find a way. Tony said that he'd cut my throat if I ever told."

"Tony?" Horatio quirked an eyebrow. Richard seemed to realize what he had just said, the color draining from his face. He tried to form a few words, finally succeeding.

"Tony Gear. He, Chris Tine, and Jimmy Mannen are the ones that killed that girl. They brought the horse in to Clay when I was making a pickup. They were bragging about what they had done, and Clay told me I had to sell the horse." Richard shook his head. "I panicked, I told him that I couldn't do it. Then Tony throws me up against a wall, puts his knife at my throat and says that I'll do it, or he'll kill me right then and there. I didn't want to die." He was tearing up at this point. "I told him I'd get the horse sold, and Tony tells me that if I squeal, he'll kill me." Richard looked up at Horatio. "Or anyone in his way."

"And you believe he'd assault a police station? He'd kill a police officer?" Cathy asked.

"Or anyone close to the cops working on the case." Richard sounded firm on that. Horatio digested what he had told him as Cathy continued questioning. They had a violent individual on their hands, and apparently one who had no qualms with killing. From what Richard was telling Cathy he could deduce that Tony was supposed to meet Richard today, and that missing the meaning meant cops. He had a sudden, brutal vision of this Tony finding Laila. He couldn't really picture him, just a dark figure holding a pistol and shooting her. He shook it out of his head.

"Cathy stay here." He said as he walked out. He noted Frank, and waved him over. "Frank, run Tony Gear, Chris Tine, and Jimmy Mannen through the database. Then get an officer over to the Four Seasons spa. I want Laila guarded until this case is settled."

"Okay Horatio, I'll get the names to you." Frank said, writing down the names on a notepad and turning it to Horatio for his approval. He put a hand on the Texan's arm, his eyes gaining a hard look to them.

"Frank, send your best."

* * *

Laila groaned as Mae dug the hot stones deeper into her oil covered back. It wasn't that it hurt, far from it. It was that it was putting pressure on a point that made her want to sigh as she felt the tension released. Suddenly, the tightness she had felt in her neck was gone. Her eyes flickered under her lids, their slight movement betraying the fact that she was awake. It was a challenge not to fall asleep as Mae worked through the knots in her back. Maybe she'd teach Horatio what she knew, what she used on him.

A bit of education in some of the finer arts.

If Laila had to list life's greatest pleasures she had a feeling this would probably rank a strong third. It would only be topped by the feeling of Horatio's arm around her in his sleep, which itself was topped by walking along the beach with him. But getting the stress, the worries and burdens that life piled in your muscles, rubbed away was bliss. It was a hard thing to process when the massage ended and Mae was whispering for her to get up slow, drink some water, and then head out for lunch.

Laila shifted herself, letting her eyes adjust from complete dark to the soft light. Her head felt light, her movements slow and clumsy. It felt like she was hung over. Fumbling fingers tied the back of her bikini top, then latched onto the water bottle Mae had left for her. She sipped it, finally rising to a sitting position. It felt good, this cool liquid running down her throat. She reached up and felt her throat. Running fingers over smooth muscles, only twinging when she put too much pressure on the bruises. No one here had commented on the bruises, but they were already fading. They might not even notice them.

She drew her robe back on, slipped on her sandals, and stepped out into the hallway. The door swung shut behind her, an automatic release slowing it so it didn't slam. When sh got back to the locker room, Denice wasn't there. She glanced over to the whirlpool and sauna, still no Denice. Shrugging her shoulder she wandered out to the co-ed lounge, where the restaurant was located.

The co-ed lounge was a sprawling affair, furnished in what Laila would call beach chic. All the colors were light, pale shades. The furniture was around more for comfort than modernity. Set off to the side were a few booths and tables, white wood a cool influence on the room. The lounge itself was lit by sunlight coming in, and if it was dark blown glass fixtures would cast a calming light over everything. It was a place to relax, old magazines with topic ranging from fashion to sailing sprawling over end tables and glass topped coffee tables. Ah, there she was.

Denice was sitting at one of the white-washed round tables, and waved slightly when she saw Laila. With a smile, she joined her mother. The restaurant advertised a delicious sounding lobster bisque that Laila quickly ordered while her mother settled on a salad. She was just beginning to blow on a spoonful when she heard a commotion from out near the entrance. Her curiosity piqued, she turned her head. there was a flutter around the door, the hostess stepping inside and quickly turning her head from side to side. Her eyes found Laila and narrowed. A single finger pointed her way, accusingly. From behind her stepped a police officer, his black hair gelled into place.

"That's her." The hostess spat before turning around. There was the distinct clatter of dropped silverware as Denice lost her fork.

"What's going on?" She hissed, trying to keep her voice low as the officer made his way over.

For once, Laila didn't know.

* * *

**AN: So guess who went to Miami ... Arizona? Yeah, strangely enough there's a mining town back in the Superstition mountains named Miami. No idea why. Anyway, hope you guys are enjoying the story. As for when this one will end, it will end with the opening night of The Speak. I'm just not sure how many chapter it will take to get there. I'm just letting the story flow as it wants to, speeding and slowing naturally.**

**Thank you guys so much for your reviews. I really mean that. You guys keep me inspired, and let me know that what I do really makes people happy. Thank you all so much.**


	13. Chapter 13

The spa exploded, but the noise was muffled. Groups of women began to whisper, hisses slithering across the air like invisible snakes. The wait staff backed away, and Laila could hear phones being whipped out, followed by the clacking that accompanied texting and any use of social media. Denice looked from her daughter to the approaching police officer. Laila risked a glance up.

"Miss Collins, my name is John Blake." The man held out a hand. Laila shook his hand, still a little freaked out. "Lieutenant Caine has asked me to protect you until his current case is finished."

"Hello Officer Blake." She tried, not quite sure what his 'protection' implied. Where the hell was Horatio and why hadn't he called her? "So, did Lieutenant Caine say anything else besides that? Like why you need to be guarding me?"

"No, I was contacted by Detective Tripp and told the Lieutenant Caine needed police protection for someone."

"So, how long are you going to be here?" Denice asked, accepting a replacement fork from a curious waitress that had tried to move closer to the action. Blake looked over, then back to Laila.

"She's my mother."

"I can't tell you how long Mrs. Collins." Blake's voice was respectful. "Lieutenant Caine feels that there is a risk though, and I follow my orders." Blake didn't appear to be leaving, instead looking out the windows, then taking up a position where he had an uninterrupted view of the door.

"Well you're not just gonna stand there, are you?" Denice asked, her eyes shifting around. Laila could understand her apprehension. All eyes were on them, and they were not looking on in an approving light.

"I will watch over your daughter until Lieutenant Caine relieves me at night. Then I will be back when he leaves in the morning." Blake didn't say much after that, except for, "Just pretend I'm not here."

"I'll try, but I'm not making any promises." Laila said turning back to her bisque. She lifted a spoonful, blew on it, and popped it into her mouth. She tried to swallow, the warm, rich liquid stuck in her mouth. She could feel the eyes of everyone else on her. She took a harsh breath in though her nose, and the soup finally went down. She coughed lightly once it was gone. Denice was still staring at him. "Mom, you heard him. Just relax."

"But why is he here? Are you in danger? What is he going to do? Is he going to follow you everywhere? Oh my God..." Denice trailed off, and Laila could immediately guess what her mother was thinking. Officer Blake would follow her everywhere, even to places that were considered private.

"I don't know. Horatio doesn't tell me much about his work."

"You don't know what he does?"

"No, I do know. He just doesn't talk about all the particulars." Laila sighed, thinking of Horatio. All she wanted was to speak to him, to ask him why exactly she needed protection. But he wasn't here, she couldn't ask him and she had to deal with it. "Most of the stuff that he does is classified." Her voice dropped lower, cautious against eavesdroppers. "I think he doesn't tell me much because he wants to protect me. He doesn't want me to worry."

"But he's a police officer, what if he's hurt or-"

"I know." Laila cut her mother off, dropping her spoon into the bisque. Her appetite had fled, the soup looking disgusting now. "I know that he should tell me, and I know that I should push him harder to tell me more. I know Mom. I worry about him. I don't want him to think that I can't handle him telling me these things. I don't want him to see me as some shrinking violet, some dainty little flower."

"That you definitely aren't." Her mother sniffed. "Eat, you're too thin." Laila looked up from where her gaze had dropped. That was why she loved her mother, Denice could pull her out of her depressing rut of thought. With a renewed vigor, Laila spooned up some more soup. It tasted better than it had before. "Now, have ever told you how your father and I met?"

"Yeah, he saw you at some beauty pageant at the hotel where there was a seed conference." Laila knew her parent's story by heart. Well, the parts that had been revealed. Their story was like trying to see a picture through fog. You could catch glimpses of it, but other parts remained so obscure that she couldn't even make sense of it.

"I never told you how we met though. Our first meeting. I was running late, trying to get from the bathroom to the ballroom. Your father was watching some salesman that had set up in the hallway. I was running so quickly that I didn't even notice the man I ran into. Your father was there in an instant, helping me up." Her mother's voice turned wistful. "He had the kindest eyes I'd ever seen.

He took my makeup bag, offered me his hand and walked me to the pageant. I didn't even realize I had left it with him until after the pageant, I won Queen that day, and I was looking around the crowd. He was still standing there, holding my makeup bag. He handed it to me, and he said he thought I was the bravest person he had ever seen." Laila had completely forgotten her soup, watching with rapt attention as her mother spoke. "He couldn't understand getting up there, letting people judge you on how you looked. You've got that in you," Denice reached a hand across the table, holding hers. "Just loving what you do. You don't care what people think, but you've got so much of you're father in you too. He would worry if I didn't tell him anything. As for Horatio, just tell him how you feel. You're so brave, and let him know. Don't be afraid to talk to him, if you love him as much as I think he'll understand."

"Mom, I never said-"

"For someone who's been in love as long as I have, it was easy to tell." Denice smiled, then gestured for Laila to eat her soup.

Forgetting about Blake, she did so with gusto.

* * *

Horatio walked over to Frank's desk, running his fingers through his hair. His Texan friend was absent, but Horatio knew he would shortly return. He instead leaned against the desk, rubbing his eyes with a forefinger and thumb. _Did Blake get there? Is she safe? Was sending him the right thing to do?_ Horatio huffed, then reached for his cell. The Miami-Dade Police Department had not jumped forward with the rest of the technological world, his work phone was still a flip open that doubled as a walkie-talkie. He selected Blake from the contacts and pressed the textured button on the side.

"Blake." He merely said.

"Lieutenant Caine, what do you need?" Blake's voice was rougher due to the phone, but his reply was quick and courteous.

"Is everything alright there?"

"There was a bit of commotion when I arrived, but things have settled down."

"Where is she?" Horatio asked, his voice betraying his curiosity.

"She's having a treatment. I'm outside the door." Blake sounded almost awkward, like he was embarrassed to be at the spa. Horatio felt a bit of blood drain from his hand, his brows furrowing together. "I checked it before she and the facial lady went in. It was clear, and there's no windows so we don't have to worry about that."

"Why aren't you in there?" _  
_

"Sir, have you ever seen a woman get her eyebrows waxed?" Blake sounded frightened. "It's disturbing. And they don't make a noise! Just have this melting wax put on their eyebrows and pull the hair out. And she just kept talking, like it was no big deal. Her voice didn't even hitch. She told me I could wait outside if I wanted. I jumped on the chance." Horatio had to let go of the button for a minute so he could laugh. It wasn't a full bodied laugh, but a quiet chuckle that he tried to stifle with a hand. Of course, Frank walked up while Horatio was laughing.

"Somethin' funny?" Frank asked, slapping the files he was holding down. Horatio held up a finger, telling him to wait. He steadied his voice, then spoke to Blake.

"Alright, keep an eye on her though She'll head back home after this, and you will guard her until I arrive. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir." Blake cut off, leaving Horatio with a very confused Texan.

"So what was that about?" Frank asked, sorting through the files he had set down.

"Your ex ever go get her eyebrows waxed?" Horatio chuckled, glancing down at the files in Frank's hands. He saw Tony Gear, Chris Tine, and Jimmy Mannen towards the top. He held a hand out, accepting them from Frank.

"Oh yeah. Could never understand why a woman would do that to herself. Has to hurt like hell." Frank shook his head. "Your guys have a mixed record, Chris' been brought in for dealing, Jimmy for manufacturing and dealing, but Tony takes the cake. Armed robbery and attempted homicide. Guy's got a hell of a lawyer, managed to get him off on the robbery, claimed the evidence was mishandled." Frank saw Horatio's look. "Don't worry, it was on night shift. As for the attempted homicide, served three years and was paroled for the remaining five."

"Hmm." Horatio muttered. "Last places of residence?"

"Same house for all three of 'em. Place over in Liberty City." Frank said with a twinge. Liberty City, the most violent neighborhood in Miami. Horatio bit his cheek, it would be risky going there. There wasn't any love for law enforcement over in the run down area. He could understand why Frank would be a little apprehensive.

"You up for a trip over there?" He asked, securing the files underneath his arm. Frank bit his lip, then shook his head.

"Sorry Horatio. Not today."

"I wouldn't make you Frank. Ryan's probably up for it." Horatio smiled, then turned around. He slapped the files against an open palm as he walked away, passing fellow officer as he made his way to the elevators. Ryan was probably down in the garage, helping Eric go over a car that they had dredged up out of a canal. The crime lab was spread out over several floors. The garage and the ballistics lab were located in basement rooms, the labs and offices up on a higher floor. Horatio would have preferred to have all his labs consolidated, but having the ground floor of officers created a nice buffer in case of a break-in. It also kept lawyers and attorneys from tampering with any evidence. _Not that such outstanding public servants would think of such a thing._ He stepped off the elevator, shook out his handkerchief and held it over his nose. He could smell the decomp from here. Great, the garage would smell for a week. Two figures in white coats were going over the backseat of the car, surgical masks over their faces.

"Ryan, want to join me?" He called out. One of the figures broke off, setting the equipment he was using down.

"Yeah, anything to get out of this." Ryan mumbled as he stripped off his coat.

"Oh, he can leave. But I'll just have him make a trip to the morgue when Alex's got a real nasty one." Eric yelled from behind the car. Horatio looked over to Ryan. The kid looked split, and Horatio remembered how shaken he had been when he got the usual CSI hazing. A boiling head, way worse than being duct taped to a goalpost.

"I can take nasty, but if I don't get out of here this smell is going to make me puke." Ryan said, bolting for the elevator. Horatio followed him, holding in a chuckle. He glanced at his watch as they rode up. It was already the afternoon, and if they pulled in multiple suspects he didn't see himself getting home at a normal time. He sighed, instead looking up at the numbers flashing by on top of the door. Ryan collected his CSI kit, and they were on their way.

* * *

Laila ran her fingers over the red, irritated skin above her eyes. Thank God for sunglasses, she and Horatio had that in common. She preferred her aviator shades to Horatio's longer lenses. She glanced into her rearview mirror, still unused to having a police car following her and not flashing his lights. Blake caught her eyes and narrowed his. She held up a hand, and pulled out of the hotel's parking lot. Blake didn't cut her any leeway, even checking the elevator at her apartment before letting her get on. _I'm going to go crazy if he keeps looking for threats that aren't there._ That was nothing compared to him checking every conceivable hiding place in her apartment. He wouldn't even let her go in, leaving her tapping her food outside. _Why am I even doing that? To display my annoyance? Hey, Blake, get out here so I can go in._

"It's all clear." Blake said, opening her door. She snorted, walking past him. He closed the door after her, dead-bolted it and chained it. _I'm going to go crazy. It's __official._ Normally she just would have spoken her thoughts aloud, but since Blake was there she didn't want him to be privy to them. Sh moved towards the balcony, hoping a fresh breeze and book would help her. "You can't go out there."

"What?" It was a flat, emotionless word. It was shock, disbelief and frustration rolled into one. _You're going to refuse me my balcony, my little refuge?_

"There might be someone with a rifle. You must remain indoors. Preferably away from the windows." Blake didn't seem very perturbed, and shrugged his shoulders after he finished. Laila knew the man was just doing his job, _but dear God at least give me my balcony!_

"And I assume a walk on the beach is out of the question."

"Yes."

"Ugh," She sighed. "Wonderful. I'll be in my bedroom, am I allowed in there?" Laila couldn't help the snark in her voice. The second she closed the door she immediately felt horrible. She shouldn't be taking out her frustrations on Blake, he was just doing his job. So who should she be frustrated with? Herself? She couldn't think of anything she had done to piss someone off enough to kill her. Richard maybe, but she hadn't heard from him after their first meeting. Horatio? He was the one that demanded her protection, the one that had sent Blake. But, she couldn't see him setting out to make her angry.

Her phone buzzed, stirring her out of her thoughts.

"Hello?"

"Laila! Richard's been arrested. I don't know what to do, I mean he's my son but I've hauled his ass out of things like this before." Carl's sounded worried, frustrated. She could easily relate. She heard the clink of crystal through the phone.

"Hold on Carl, what's he been arrested for?"

"Cocaine, they found a boatload of cocaine in his house. If I knew he was going to do that I wouldn't have lent him the money. Then this Eric Delko calls me from the police department and says he's being held without bail."

"Alright, Carl, I'm going to speak my mind. Please don't fire me for it." _Well, if Delko's involved there's no doubt Horatio is as well. Why didn't he call to say he arrested my boss's son? I'm so tired of being left out of the loop. He didn't even call to say why Blake is guarding me._

"You're fine, I just needed someone to talk to. I couldn't talk to his mother about this, she'd do anything for him. But I think it's time for the boy to grow up." Carl sighed, and Laila could hear him drink. She knew he was divorced, rumor has it his ex-wife was flitting about New York with some millionaire.

"And that's exactly my point. Let him see what screwing around does."

"Thanks." Carl mumbled. "I'll see you tomorrow for the interview." With that Carl hung up. Laila looked at her phone, then sighed. Ran her hands through her hair, which felt slightly oily. She glanced at the large windows, seeing a beautiful view. Blue above, and blue below. White, fluffy clouds were mirrored in the foam that sprang to life when waves broke. She knew that a breeze would be blowing in, a breeze that would tempt her out to go running on the beach. The slim tendril of thought wound its way through her mind. She shook it away. She wouldn't leave, she couldn't leave.

But what if she did? What if she ran out before Blake could stop her, running down to the beach and feeling the ocean roll over her feet? What if she just hopped on a boat at the marina down the way and sailed to the Keys? With a groan she laid back on the bed. She'd never make it past Blake, he was probably sitting outside her door, still on guard. Even if she made it past him he'd grab her before she made it to the elevator. Laila groped above her head, finally finding the television remote. She set it some station, she wasn't sure which, that was running a chick flick marathon. Maybe that was all she needed. She laid herself out on the bed, resting her head on the pillow. When did she get so sleepy? A wandering hand reached into her nightstand drawer and withdrew the lavender scented eye-pillow she kept.

Laila slipped off into a restless sleep, her worries following her into her dreams.


	14. Chapter 14

Horatio kept the windows of the Hummer rolled up as they drove through Liberty City. The large, silver, official county vehicle drew a lot of attention as he drove through the streets. He bit his lip, noticing how Ryan fidgeted in his seat. He probably felt as uncomfortable as Wolfe, but he wouldn't show it. Showing it would just give off the vibe that he was scared. The address that had been listed in the file was for an old, depilated apartment building. Chris, Jimmy and Tony were on the top floor, which was accessed by a set of rickety stairs that creaked with every step.

"Horatio, this feel right to you?" Ryan asked from behind him. Horatio could only picture the way the young CSI was fidgeting at all the creaks from the stairs, his OCD driving him to find patterns in it. But that was what forensics tried to do, find patterns in the chaos of a crime scene to determine the truth. Ryan's OCD was immensely helpful in that, but sometimes Horatio felt bad for the kid. Obsessing over every single detail had to get a little annoying.

"Mr. Wolfe, none of this is right." Horatio reminded him, looking up the flights of stairs they still had to climb. These damn stairs hadn't been this hard when he was in New York. _Got used to those elevators, didn't you? Ah, and you're growing older. Mustn't forget that. You'll be what, __forty-six next year. _

"Yeah, but wouldn't these guys have left? From what we've been told, they don't sound that stupid."

"It never hurts to check Ryan. We have to be sure." Horatio did slide the top of his holster off of his pistol. He could hear Ryan doing the same, a slight _whish_ of material sliding off of metal. He stopped outside apartment 1729, a scratched white door that had obviously seen better years. Then again, the whole area had. He knocked on the door twice, and announced their presence. "Miami-Dade Police, open the door!" There wasn't any response to his statement. Horatio could hear scurrying though, like something was running around, trying to escape. "Open the door or I will break it down!" Horatio waited a few seconds before stepping back, raising a foot, and slamming it against the door. The old wood splintered and the lock popped out of the wall. The door yawned open, rusted hinges protesting the movement with a squeal. Horatio drew his weapon, holding it in front of him as he walked in. Ryan followed behind.

The place looked like a rat had been living in it. Newspapers littered the floors, some flat, some crumpled into a ball and shoved into a corner. The only pieces of furniture in the apartment were a table and chairs. All looked as if they had been pulled from a dumpster. The counter from the small kitchenette contained a box of clear plastic wrap, a scale, and a blake permanent marker. He saw a light dusting of white powder on the scale, residue from weighing out hundreds of packages of cocaine. Horatio had a feeling that their last shipment of cocaine was gone, but not everything in the apartment was. _Nor everyone_, he though as he heard the scratching noise again. He could feel Wolfe follow him more than he could hear him. Leather clad feet scuffed over the floor, towards a closet. He reached out, grasped the worn brass knob, and pulled it open quickly.

"Don't shoot!" A panicked voice rang out. Horatio pulled the door open the rest of the way, revealing a young black man. He was cowering against a shelf, hands in front of his face. Horatio stepped back, gun dropping to his side. He quickly holstered it once he saw the kid was unarmed.

"We won't Jimmy." He told him. Horatio gestured for Ryan to holster his weapon, hopefully putting the young man at ease. Jimmy glanced around his hands, lowering them. His body language still said he was scared, curving away from Horatio. "Now just step out here." Jimmy hesitantly took a few steps out, glancing from Horatio to Ryan.

"You guys after Tony?" Jimmy asked, wiping his sweaty hands on the old shirt he was wearing. His clothing was worn, but sturdy. A pair of baggy jeans led to a pair of sneakers that were probably worth more than Horatio's.

"Yeah, and you." Ryan said, hand going to the pocket where his cuffs were. A swift gesture from Horatio cut him off. Ryan was a good CSI but he could be a little excited sometimes. With a suspect like this, scared out of his mind, you had to go slow. Show him that you weren't going to hurt him.

"Relax Jimmy, I'm Lieutenant Caine and this is CSI Wolfe." Horatio told him. "We're here looking for you guys because you stole a horse that was worth a lot of money. You also killed two people."

"Man, I didn't!" Jimmy held a hand up to his chest. "Tony went into the track, said he'd cause a distraction while we went for the horse. Chris wasn't expectin' the guy and just off and shot him. All I did was drive the truck." His head sunk down. "I was the only one who knew how to drive a truck. If I had been the one getting the horse I wouldn't have killed that little Cuban guy."

"You still are an accessory to murder." Horatio felt bad for the kid, he obviously hadn't wanted anyone to die. "Which means we have to take you in. It also means this is your third strike." Florida had instituted the laws back in '96, a way to keep rescinded criminals off the streets. After three charges the offender would be facing twenty-five to life. It was harsh, but it wasn't Horatio's job to make the laws. It was his job to get the 'bad guys', the rapists, murderers, and even drug dealers off the streets and away from the public. He didn't like the fact that the kid had to go to jail, but he reminded himself that this same kid who was so scared of him had also made cocaine that he had then sold to people on the street. And no matter how contrite he was, he had helped kill two people and steal a racehorse. Horatio may have pitied him, but he wasn't going to let him go.

"Shit." Jimmy cursed quietly. Ryan went forward, gently taking Jimmy's arms and cuffing them behind his back. Horatio looked at Jimmy's head, hanging low. He could see the despair in the boy's eyes, the sadness. Horatio stiffened his spine and turned away. He led their little procession back down the stairs, Ryan keeping a hand on Jimmy's shoulder as he followed. Jimmy was placed in the backseat of the Hummer, still silent as Horatio started the vehicle and drove back to the police headquarters. When the pulled up a pair of patrol officers took Jimmy off to booking, and Horatio found himself with an hour to wait through until he could question his suspect.

"Blake." He said, pulling out his phone again.

"Lieutenant Caine." Came the quick response. Blake must have had nothing to do if he answered so quickly. Horatio knew what that was like, he had done a few protection jobs himself. Being out was nerve-wracking, looking for threats that weren't there and trying to keep the person safe. Once you were in a safe spot though, there was nothing to do but wait. Waiting for it to be safe again. Being on guard meant you couldn't watch TV, read a book, or even go get a drink from a fast food place. The waiting would drive you insane.

"Are you at the apartment?"

"Yes sir. She's in her bedroom. I checked the place before she entered, there was nothing. I checked in on her about ten minutes ago, she's sleeping with the TV on." Blake's voice was quiet, as if he was afraid Laila would come screaming out of her room. "I'm on a stool outside. It's pretty quiet around here." _She's asleep? I've never known Laila to waste the day sleeping, _he thought, _usually she'd be doing something. Walking, exercising, reading. Some form of activity.__  
_

Horatio smiled remembering how Laila had offered other activities to keep them occupied during the day. They could be described as sleep, but not the restful kind.

"Did she ask to do anything when you two got back?" Horatio asked, accepting a file from an officer coming in.

"Well she wanted to go out on her balcony. I told her no, I was worried there might be a sniper. I mean, we don't know how exactly the guy I'm protecting her from operates. Then she asked to go for a walk on the beach. I shot that one down too."

"Ah. Thank you." Horatio wanted to groan. He knew Laila didn't like to be forbidden her usual activities. More than likely she'd be angry when he got back, and he'd have to spend some time calming her down. He loved the woman, but he still had to show her that the world was not such a rosy place. He thought she would have realized that he only wanted her to be safe, but from what Blake said she was chafing under the restrictions that police protection implied. The fact that she was left a sour taste in his mouth and sour thoughts in his mind. Horatio wanted the day to be over, so that he could go home and see her. He placed the phone back in his pocket and opened the file. It was the new report on Jimmy. He stood and made his way to the interview room. Jimmy was there, slumped in a chair. Horatio stepped in.

"Jimmy, I've just got a few questions for you." He said, laying the file down. Horatio sat in a chair across from him. "Now, where are Chris and Tony?"

"I don't know. Chris and Tony haven't been back to the place for two days."

"Do you know what they're doing?"

"Clay got some shipment in. We split it up, each of us takes a quarter of the load, and go sell it. Regulars, first timers, anyone who doesn't look like a narc. I just sold mine, that's why I was back. I drop the money there, Clay picks it up."

"Now, Clay Dixon is in custody. Do Chris and Tony have a place where the go to sell, a favorite haunt?"

"Tony likes the harbors, those fishermen and shrimpers will buy the stuff. Sometimes he even trades a little for some Jamaican ganga. Chris, guy goes for the clubs. Trust fund kids, anyone who wants to have a good time."

"Hmm." Horatio hummed. _Clubs, just like Clay._

"Not the fancy ones that Clay went to. Chris is at the strip joints, guy can't resist a naked girl. Makes deals with some pimps that hang around there."

"We've heard from another suspect that Tony will come after police and police family members. How exactly could he track us?" Horatio could tell Jimmy was giving him what he wanted, trying to cut some plea bargain. If he gave Horatio this, he'd try and get Cathy to let him down easy.

"Facebook, Twitter, the news, rumors, you name it Tony knows it. Guy follows everything going on in Miami. I saw him follow a guy that didn't pay us, waited in parking lots, outside their work. Then he followed 'em home. Didn't kill the guy, just roughed him up and took the cash. But he's patient, he'll sit and watch someone all night." Jimmy set his cuffed hands on the table. "Can you get me off? I told Clay this was my last load. I was getting out of it."

"Jimmy," Horatio said standing up. "That's not up to me."

* * *

Laila was walking along a deserted beach, the fine grained bone white sand tickling her toes. She could feel her hair blowing behind her, tangling in the wind. She didn't quite know where she was, or where she was walking. Occasionally a wave would break and roll over her feet, warm water like silk. She could see something taking form in front of her. It jutted out into the ocean, a rocky outcropping that she couldn't picture in Florida. She had vacationed down in the islands once, and she could have sworn she had been here. Maybe on a picnic or a tour or something. As she got closer she could see two palm trees at the end, one stretching out over the sea, the other rising tall. Both had waving green heads, blowing towards the shore in the prevailing wind. Below the trees stood a group of people, heads bowed over something. Laila glanced over, finding a path to the outcropping just to her side. She quickly ran up it, grass spongy under her feat.

She knew them. There was Calleigh and Alexx, Natalia and Ryan and Eric, Frank and Horatio all standing around looking at something. She laughed and reached for Horatio, wanting to ask him why he was dressed in all black and why he looked so sad. But her hand passed right through him. Aghast Laila glanced down to see what they were looking at. It was a headstone of polished granite, reading

_**Here Lies Laila Collins  
Beloved daughter  
1978-2012**_

"No, no that's not right. I'm right here." She sputtered, turning to the crowd. None of them were crying, but Laila guessed that they weren't here for her. Most of them had turned away, Frank only stopping to lay a hand on Horatio's shoulder as he turned away. Horatio looked down at the grave, a single white rose held in his hand. He knelt down, touching the letter tenderly. The white rose dropped from his hand, resting on the freshly dug soil. Laila dropped to her knees in front of him. "Horatio, I'm here! Look at me you stupid man!"

"Laila, I loved you. I just wanted to protect you." He whispered. "And you went and got yourself killed. All you had to do was stay indoors, stay away from those horrible people. But you didn't." Laila could see his eyes water, but he didn't cry. She knew he wouldn't cry, he would hold it inside him, use it to fuel him. But he wouldn't shed a tear for her.

"NO I DIDN'T!" She screamed. "I stayed inside. I did everything Blake wanted!" But Horatio didn't hear her, his eyes didn't see her and when Laila reached for his hand it passed through her. Why couldn't she touch him? All she had to do was grab his hand, pull him back and tell him that she was here, she was alive. But she couldn't even do that. Couldn't even touch him. She began to cry, heaving sobs as she knelt on her own grave. She screamed, her eyes shut as she let the sound rip through her body.

When she opened them, she wasn't on the outcropping. She was in a funeral parlor, the colors dark and subdued. She could see the same group from before, but this time they were all crying. Laila stepped through them, moving towards the open casket. "No, no no no no no no no!" She repeated it as if it could change what she saw, as if it could change the body that was lying composed in the coffin. She reached out, a tear-stained hand caressing his cheek. But it passed through him, as it had before. Laila reached over, grabbing for his lapels even though her hands kept passing through them. His hair didn't even ruffle, the coppery red color that she loved so much. At that point she wasn't even aware that she was screaming, repeating a mantra. "Horatio, wake up! Wake up!"

She was sitting on the coffin, on his hips as she tried to get him to look at her. She could only vaguely hear people around her, something about revenge, no kevlar, and getting shot. She didn't pay them any mind, her attention on the prone figure in front of her. Her mind kept screaming, telling her that this wasn't possible, that there was no way this could be real, it couldn't be possible. All of a sudden she was laying on him, the closed lid of the coffin rising above her. She could hear dirt falling down, burying them down in the earth. She screamed, she kicked, but it was all for nothing. She reached a hand back, trying to find Horatio's cheek. But she couldn't even feel that. What she could feel though was a smothering presence wrapping around her, holding her even as she tried to fight her way loose.

"No, no. Please. No." She begged, trying to reason with whatever was holding her. It just grew tighter though, and she could hear this overwhelming beat repeating. A heartbeat, but with the rushing sound that accompanied waves breaking against the shore. She could tell it was trying to calm her down, reason with her. But all she could hear was her own voice, screaming over and over. Her lungs burned, there wasn't any air in here. She had to breathe, she needed air. She gulped like a fish, fighting against the presence. She could feel tears streaming down, and the presence tightened.

"Laila."

* * *

**AN: Well, that's a nice little bit of drama. And to all those people who are reading and not reviewing, please review! I just love hearing back from you guys, it doesn't even have to be anything more that 'hey I like your story'. Just let me hear from you!**


	15. Chapter 15

The Hummer rumbled into the parking lot that served the apartment, and Horatio could easily pick out the patrol car that Blake had taken. He looked up into the rearview mirror and quickly checked the side ones. He had driven carefully on the way home, watching for any cars that might have been following him from the police headquarters. it had taken him longer since he had taken a winding route, hopefully losing any pursuers that he hadn't spotted. Luckily he didn't see anything out of the normal. He stepped down from the Hummer, locked it and headed inside. Raul, the security guard the high-rise employed, saw him and quickly buzzed the door open. Horatio nodded his thanks as he stepped inside and got onto the elevator. When he reached the door of the apartment, he hesitated. All he could see was Laila, flying into a rage at him. He shook the image out of his mind and opened the door. Except it didn't move. Horatio dug in his pocket for his keys, stopping when he heard a voice call out.

"This apartment is under Miami-Dade Police protection. State your name. If you do not I will shoot." He heard the standard police script coming from the room. Horatio rolled his eyes.

"Blake, it's Lieutenant Caine. Open the door." He called out. Horatio could see the light seeping from under the door be blocked, Blake looking through the peephole. Horatio only raised his eyebrows. There was a series of scraping noises, locks being pulled back and the chain being released. A very contrite Blake stood there, and nodded to Horatio as he entered. Once Blake had left Horatio closed the door, and was in the process of removing his badge when he heard something. It was a high sound, a keening that slowly developed into a full throated scream. He reflexively drew his gun, running through the living area and throwing open the bedroom door.

Laila was laying on the bed, still asleep. But she was writhing, the covers thrown every which way. Her mouth was open, issuing the scream. It wasn't earsplitting loud, it wasn't deafening. Compared to screams he had heard it was almost quiet. He could see tear tracks down her cheeks, tears caught in her eyelashes. He quickly holstered his gun, instead sitting down on the bed. Laila began to thrash, arms and legs fighting off some invisible demon. Ignoring how she tried to throw him off, kicked at him and slapped unconsciously at him, he drew her into his arms. It wasn't very easy, she was quite strong.

"No, no no no." She muttered, her mind fighting off whatever nightmare was plaguing her. "Wake up. Wake up." Horatio held her arms close, restraining her. He wasn't quite sure if he should wake her up, he had heard that being woken from a nightmare was sometimes worse than having one. He settled for keeping her arms close, holding her head to his chest. But she kept crying. Horatio had heard women cry before, softly sobbing, grief wracked cries, but he had never heard what was issuing from Laila before. It was a sound of pure terror, of desperation and sadness rolled into one. This wasn't the beautiful crying from movies. It was tears rolling down a face that was turning red, mixing with snot as her nose ran. It was true crying, and the scream was a scream of desperation. It was a sound that cut deep into him, back through his memories. Raymond had cried like that when they had heard that their mother was dead.

They had come home late from a day out. Horatio had found a few dollars on the ground and had received a few from tourists for taking pictures for them. With their little treasure trove they had purchased a couple slices of pizza and some soda. They were racing home, hoping to get back before dark. If they got back too late their father tended to get the belt. Horatio hadn't known quite what to think of the cop cars outside his house, blue and red lights reflecting in puddles. He held Raymond's hand as they moved forward, excusing themselves to the growing crowd. A cop looked down at them, his face falling when Horatio told him that they lived there and their names. He had waved a policewoman over, and she had taken him and Raymond back around a squad car. Then she had told him that their mother had been found dead, and they didn't know who had done it. Raymond had begun to sob, and when the woman bent to hug him he blindly slapped her hands away, running to Horatio instead. He blinked and was back, looking out at the dark ocean through the bedroom windows. Laila's crying had only increased and he couldn't stand it.

"Laila." He said, grabbing a wrist and putting a little pressure on it. He wanted her to wake up but he wasn't going to shake her around. He saw her eyelids flicker open, brown irises flashing in the moving light from the television. They sprinted quickly around, taking in everything that she could see. Her crying didn't cease though, her nose beginning to run.

"H-Horatio. I-I was so scared." She sobbed, burying her head in his chest. Horatio shushed her, stroking her hair. He could feel the oil from the spa in her hair, and when she lifted her head he could see the splotchy, irritated skin around and between her eyebrows. A cold hand reached up and caressed his cheek.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, looking straight into her eyes. She blinked and looked away.

"No. No it's not." Laila muttered as she drew her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. "I have no idea why you saddled me with Blake, and then he just walks into the spa. My mother about died of embarrassment." She hung her head. "I'm tired of not knowing Horatio. I'm tired of you not telling me everything. I want to _know _why someone might kill me. I want to know why Carl Gibson called me today, complaining about how his son had been picked up in a coke bust and Eric Delko was working his case." She turned her head, fixing him with those shining brown eyes. "I love you Horatio. I do. But, I'm so tired of being in the dark. They say ignorance is bliss, but it's not Horatio. _It's not_. It's thinking that when you walk outside someone's going to pop a bullet in your head for no reason," She reached a hand out, finding his. "And then your cop boyfriend goes out and gets himself killed trying to get revenge for you. Or that you'll be working some case and you don't get back and I open the door and Ryan's standing there, and he tells me that you won't be coming back. I don't want to worry when I don't have to. But I do. I worry because I have no idea what you're doing and if it's dangerous or not." She moved out of her little ball, sitting cross-legged in front of him. "I just want to know."

Horatio bit the inside of his cheek. He had never thought that she was concerned about not knowing. About being in the dark. He thought she would have been angry about not being allowed outside, or possibly missing the club opening because of the fact that she had to be guarded. Shaking out his handkerchief Horatio reached over, mirroring her gesture from earlier. He slowly wiped the tears off of her cheeks, finally running his thumb over her cheekbone. Laila reached up and held onto his hand, her eyes shut. Horatio thought over his words for a minute before he spoke.

"Laila, sweetheart, are you sure you want to know?" He asked. Her eyes flashed open, defiance in them.

"I'm not afraid Horatio. I'm not some fragile girl. Being raised on a farm doesn't allow you to be gentle." Her voice was firm. "I've sold animals I've loved to their deaths. I still love them, but I'm not scared."

"Heaven knows you're not delicate." Horatio chided gently. Laila smiled, a smirk breaking her features. "I will have to give you the edited version though. If any of this got out, the department would be in big trouble."

"Horatio, you don't have to do that." She sounded concerned. "I won't tell anyone."

"I know you won't. But Erica has a way of pulling anything she wants out of people." Horatio smiled at her. "I'll give you the basic details though. About a week ago, a woman was murdered, as was a groom at the racetrack and a horse was stolen. The horse was found at the track, having been sold to an individual to pay for a drug debt. That individual was Richard. The dealer we picked up for it claimed that it was the work of three of his men, and we have already picked up one. One of the other two is said to be very violent, and he might come after you." Horatio was surprised the she merely nodded at this, as if it made more sense than anything she had heard. "That is why Blake is guarding you while I try to catch the other two."

There was a tense moment of silence that followed his little speech. He watched Laila take in what he had said, saw the gears turning in her head. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and he could see a single tear fall off of her cheek. He reached a hand over, letting it rest on her knee. She looked up, a slow smile breaking through the sadness that had so recently clouded her face.

"Thank you."

* * *

Laila meant it, truly, sincerely, meant it. He had been understanding, and had shared what was going on with her. Laila covered his hand with hers, gently running her fingers over the back of it. She wiped at her eyes with the other hand, clearing the last vestiges of tears that remained. God she hated crying, hated it. She had cried before, but it had been awhile since it was this bad. She could still remember the first time she had cried like this, after she had sold her first steer.

She had known Steve would be sold for meat, but she hadn't thought about how hard it would be. How she would never feed him again, never brush him, never wash him. Steve wouldn't stick his tongue out at her, moo when she came out to feed him. Her father had found her curled up in the corner of the barn after the truck had taken Steve away. She had been crying, and all her friends had gone off to ride the rides at the fair. Jeff had taken her out, gotten her ice cream, and told her how she would see Steve again someday. Laila had asked if she could get another cow, one she wouldn't have to sell. Her father had consented and the next day Laila went home with a little Holstein heifer calf, Daisy. She still raised her steers, but every time she felt like crying she would just remember Daisy. Daisy's descendants still lived at the house, and their milk went to make all the cookies and caked that Denice baked.

"You're welcome." Horatio told her, his face coming closer to hers. Laila could feel the slight heat from his breath as he inched closer. Laila closed the last little bit, her fingers slowly dragging down his cheek, winding in his hair. He did the same, and when he gently tugged her head back so that he could kiss his way down her throat she moaned, then broke off coughing. _Great, way to ruin the mood._

"Sorry, I think I need a little tea." She mumbled, rising from the bed. She could still see Horatio out of the corner of her eyes as she left, resting on one elbow. She busied herself with getting a cup and pouring some water out of the coffee machine. Horatio's footsteps echoed off the tile as he followed her out, the metallic clinking and tearing of Velcro betraying the fact that he was removing his badge and gun. Laila grabbed a bit of her 'fancy tea'. It was a loose blend of white tea leaves, lavender and other herbs that were supposed to calm her down and help her sleep. She put it in a small sieve and let it steep for a minute or two. Horatio appeared in the entryway, a smile on his face. Laila kept her eyes down as she took out the sieve and tossed the tea leaves into the trash. When she turned around he was holding out the cup. She nodded her thanks and sipped it.

"Better?" He asked, cocking his head slightly. Laila nodded. "Good."

"Come on, I've got an idea. Oh, here." Laila turned around and fished in the fridge, finally drawing out a plastic container of strawberries. She jerked her head, indicating that Horatio should follow her. She went back into the room, setting the tea down on a nightstand. She sprang onto the bed and patted the comforter to show Horatio that she was expecting him. He joined her, and Laila quickly rearranged herself so that she was curled up beside him, the strawberries in front of her. It was all she could do to not purr with contentedness.

"So, we're going to watch movies?" Horatio asked, and Laila could feel his nose brushing against her hair.

"Not just any movies. Chick flicks." She told him. "We're watching chick flicks and eating strawberries. Usually, after what just happened, I would grab ice cream. Unfortunately, I haven't bought any recently. So, strawberries."

"That makes sense." She heard him say, and she could feel his hands gently tracing her legs, dangling down and intertwining with his. It was strange to feel his legs, clothed in soft slacks, against her bare ones from where her dress had hiked up. She smiled, picking up a strawberry to feed Horatio. He leaned over and she could feel just the barest touch of his lips as he bit off the sweet flesh. She flicked the stem away, her eyes catching the movie. It was the end of Pretty Woman, where Richard Gere comes riding in on the white limo to rescue Julia Roberts from her horrible life.

"How romantic." She sighed, looking up. A little red berry was hanging over her, and she leaned up to close her lips around it. She bit off, still rising slightly off the pillow. All of a sudden she could feel Horatio's lips on her neck, picking up where her sudden cough had left off. She gasped as his lips traveled lower, until he was kissing the hollow of her throat. The slight pressure produced a tickling sensation that almost made her giggle. She placed her hands on either side of his face and drew him back up so she could press her mouth to his. She could taste him, the strawberries, the coffee he had probably had at the lab.

He was over her now, and she pressed herself closer to him, desperate for his touch. He responded eagerly, hands finding her wait and drawing her up to him. Laila could barely remember what movie was playing now because all she could think of was Horatio, that damnable Horatio Caine. He tortured her, fingers finding places that made her giggle and laugh. She tried to respond in kind, drawing her fingers down his back after she had relieved him of his shirt. He had taken her dress off way earlier, hands examining her legs and following the ropey muscles that they contained. Laila was glad that they had already been massaged because she had a feeling Horatio would have tried to get the knots out and she would have taken his attention away because she just couldn't stand the thought of him focusing on any one part of her. She wanted him everywhere, hands in her hair, lips on hers.

Later, after her needs had been satisfied, for the time being, she lay with her head on his chest. The movies were still playing, but they weren't paying any attention to them. Both of their gazes were locked on the view out of the windows. It was an uninterrupted view of the ocean, a view that Laila paid for each month. Gentle moonlight washed over them, as it had for centuries over starstruck lovers. Just as the ocean had rolled on for millennia. The television had been muted long ago, and the only sound that could be heard was the gentle breathing of both parties. Laila sighed, enjoying the moment because she knew in a few short hours, it would end. Horatio would wake up, go to work, and leave her with Blake. So she resolved not to sleep, to stay up and just lay in Horatio's arms and let his presence roll over her.

"Horatio?" She whispered, looking up.

"Hmm?" He grunted, his eyes finding hers. She wanted to do nothing but stare into them, figure out exactly what color of blue they were. She wanted that color for her bathroom, or a dress so that she could see it all the time. "I thought you were asleep."

"No."

"Why? Aren't you tired?" His voice was deeper, tired. Laila truthfully was surprised that he wasn't asleep.

"Well, kinda."

"Then sleep." He said simply. Laila bit her tongue, almost tempted to tell him no. But did she not want to sleep because she wanted to be around Horatio? Or because she was afraid the nightmare would come back.

"I'm scared." She admitted. She could feel Horatio lower his head, his lips brushing her ear.

"You don't have to be scared. I'll be here the whole night." She could feel his arms tighten around her, warm flesh on warm flesh. They, they made her feel safe. These arms would keep her safe, keep any nightmares away.

"Horatio," She mumbled as she drifted off to sleep. "Thank you."


	16. Chapter 16

Laila woke up happy, relaxed, and cuddled up next to Horatio. It was a good way to wake up. She yawned, then closed her eyes and buried herself back into his chest. She could feel Horatio chuckle, his arms tightening around her. It was a warm, cozy feeling that suffused her. Horatio shifted his head, pressing his lips to the top of her head. God it felt good to just lay here next to him, without any pressure.

"I've got to go." He mumbled, his hand stretching out over her stomach.

"No, no just stay here." Laila pleaded. She could feel Horatio's other hand winding through her hair, tugging it just a little. Not enough to hurt but enough to make her open her eyes.

"You've got to get ready. Blake will be here soon." Horatio's words cut into her. God she had been rude yesterday. Laila wiggled out from underneath the covers, feeling Horatio's eyes on her as she moved to the closet for her underwear and robe. She may have swung her hips a little more than necessary and walked a little slower, but that was fine with her. She pulled on a bra and panties and cinched her robe tight. Horatio was still laying in bed when she walked back out.

"Take your time getting ready," She told him. "I'm making you a nice, big breakfast." Laila mentally recounted what was stocked up in the pantry. She should have everything she needed. The first ting to do was get the griddle going and start the stove heating. While those were getting warm Laila tore into a package of bacon, and quickly whipped up some pancake mix. It was then a game of turning back and forth, flipping bacon and turning the pancakes. The pancakes finished first, and were quickly shoved into the microwave so that they would stay warm. Horatio came out, dressed, when she was pulling the last bit of bacon out and putting some eggs and cheese into the pan to fry in the grease.

"Smells good." He commented, sitting on one of the stools.

"It's bacon. It always smells good." Laila joked, leaving the eggs to cook for a bit. She moved over to him, then stood to kiss his cheek. She could feel his hand go around her waist. She quickly moved back to the eggs, scrambling them. Finally everything was done, and she quickly took out the pancakes, butter, hot sauce and syrup. Horatio poured a couple glasses of milk while she set up a couple of places on the table. Once both plates were loaded, they both sat down, waiting until Blake came.

"Thanks." Horatio said, buttering his pancakes. Laila nodded her appreciation, then did the same, slathering them with maple syrup. The eggs were quickly doused in hot sauce, and were just as quickly eaten. There wasn't much conversation, just the happy, comfortable silence that came with knowing you didn't have to constantly talk to the other person to let them know you loved them. Laila was just biting into her bacon when there was a loud knock at the door. Horatio stood up and answered it, his plate empty.

"Lieutenant Caine." Blake said, nodding his head.

"Officer Blake." Horatio returned the nod, putting his gun and badge onto his belt. Lala walked over, then kissed him quickly as a goodbye. Once he was gone she turned to Blake, who was staring at her with a strange look.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you and Lieutenant Caine we're uh-" Blake suddenly broke off, his face turning slightly red. Laila was suddenly aware that she was just wearing her underwear and a robe.

"Dating? Together? Yeah." Laila shrugged. If he wanted to be embarrassed, let him. "Here, I made extra breakfast. Eat up while I change." Laila gestured to the food that was sitting out on the kitchen counter. With Blake occupied she went back to her room, quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a fitted top. When she came back out Blake had tucked in to his food, dunking his bacon in syrup. She couldn't help her reaction. "Why would you do that?"

"It's good. Salty and sweet." Blake said after he swallowed his mouthful of food. "Thanks for the food. And, I'm sorry about earlier. Lieutenant Caine often has his witnesses guarded."

"You can call him Horatio, you know." Laila smiled as she sat down at her plate and resumed eating. She dipped a little bit of bacon in the syrup, then tried it. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about the maple syrup covered bacon. It was not something that she'd try again, but it wasn't disgusting.

"He's my superior. I address him with his rank." Blake shrugged.

"Hmph." Laila snorted. She then looked down to her lap. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you yesterday. I guess I was just going a little stir-crazy." Blake looked up, dabbing at his cheek with a napkin.

"It's alright. I figured that."

"How about we start over?" Laila gave him her biggest smile. "I'm Laila Collins. I'm currently dating Horatio Caine."

"Hello Laila, I'm John Blake. I'll be guarding you for the next few days." Blake stuck out a hand and she shook his hand firmly.

"Alright John. Say, can I still go shopping while I'm under guard?" Laila asked with honest curiosity. She had decided to explore exactly what the boundaries were when being guarded. Hopefully she could find the boundaries, and then push them a little farther. She had to have at least a little freedom.

"As long as I go with you, I don't see a problem with it." Blake picked his plate up and walked into the kitchen. "Um, where's your dishwasher?" Laila could understand his confusion, everything in the kitchen was newer. Even the dishwasher had a wooden cover, the switches only accessed by flipping down a small panel.

"Here." Laila took the plate from him and opened the dishwasher. "Can we take my car?"

"No."

"I'll let you drive."

"No, if we have to go anywhere, we take the cruiser." Blake apparently wasn't going to give up on that point. Laila huffed, but assented. _Men, I swear. So goddamn stubborn sometimes._

"Fine, but you're driving to Bal Harbour."

"Bal Harbour?" Blake sputtered. "Why would you be going shopping there?"

"Because I have a party to go to later this week." Laila straightened. "A club opening actually, and you can't expect me to go in this." Laila gestured to her current attire, which was completely unsuited for the upscale soiree that she had to attend.

"You know if Lieutenant Caine doesn't have the other two by then, you can't go. It would be too exposed."

"I know, but I have faith in Horatio. He'll get them before long." Laila spoke with complete confidence, and there was little doubt in her mind that Horatio would succeed in that task. She had never known him to fail, he threw himself into every task and every case with everything he had. And she loved him for that.

* * *

Horatio pulled into his usual spot, then sprang down from the Hummer. So far there had been nothing, zero, zilch, nada about either Chris or Tony. Horatio would have thought that they might slip up, get caught by a patrol. Half the time he caught his suspects because they screwed up and were arrested on some minor offense. But no luck with these two. He raked his hand through his hair as he considered exactly what they could do to get those two. He sighed, glancing around the lab as he walked in. Everyone was working on different cases, running fingerprints, DNA, or in Calleigh's case, bullets. That left only him to consider the next course of action.

Officers had been alerted to keep an eye out for Chris and Tony, but there were only so many officers for all of Miami. Horatio considered the two locales that were frequented by his suspects. Strip clubs and harbors. And there were only, oh, a few thousand of those in Miami. _That might be a bit of __exaggeration, but how am I going to search so many places?_ Horatio's eyes strayed to his computer and he was hit by an idea that made him smirk.

He pulled up a map of Miami, pin-pointing all the strip clubs. Next he pulled up the Miami crime database, which listed all the perpatrators brought in by the police. He quickly narrowed the displays to people dealing cocaine, and checked through for Chris Tine. Chris was arrested outside a place called the Cheetah Lounge. The name alone made Horatio groan. He'd have to take someone, and he quickly ran through the mental list. Ryan had just come with him, Eric did his best work when he was in the water, and he would never drag Calleigh into a strip club. He had a feeling even suggesting the idea would send the Bullet Girl into a Southern belle rage.

Natalia hadn't gotten out of the lab much. Horatio had seen her hunched over papers, her eyes squinting as she deciphered a DNA readout. He knew that her primary function in the lab was as an analyst. _Aside from a mole._ He thought bitterly, but shook the thought out of his head. She had atoned for her sins, and now she was a valued member of his team. No one could tell DNA like her, and she was proving to be an asset in the field. He knocked on the side of the lab door, jerking her out of her latest assignment,

"Natalia, while don't you come with me?" He offered. "Get out of the lab for a bit."

"Just give me a minute." She told him, turning to Valera and quickly asking the other analyst to cover for her while she went out with Horatio. Horatio gave her a moment to collect a CSI kit from another room. Properly prepared they got into the Hummer, and Horatio quickly started the drive over. Natalia decided to use that time to talk.

"So, how was your Thanksgiving?" She asked, pulling her hair up into a ponytail.

"Fine. Did you spend your's with your sister?" Horatio merged onto a highway, passing over a bridge.

"Yeah, and I know you spent your's with Ryan and your girlfriend. Speaking of that, do I get to meet her soon?"

"You want to meet her?"

"Horatio, Eric told me that you're crazy about her. I want to meet her." Natalia shrugged. Horatio could only shake his head, trying to get a little more speed out of the Hummer. The thing was great, offered amazing protection in a firefight, but sometimes he wanted something faster. Then he remembered Laila's Mustang, how she sped through the streets without even thinking of what she was doing. _Maybe being a little slower is a good thing._

"Well, I'm sure you will eventually. Laila has a way of finding every one who wants to meet her." Horatio could only smile beneath his shades.

"Ryan and Eric said they first met her during that murder case she was involved in a few months ago." Natalia looked around as they moved into a part of the city that they rarely frequented. The building were shorter, shabbier. The cars on the road became older, a few showing large rust patches. This was far from the glamorous Miami that they usually worked in. "This is not what I expected. Horatio, where are we going?"

"Right there." Horatio pointed to a large sign, a cheetah standing on its hind legs and posing with a stripper pole.

"You could have told me that we're going to a strip club you know. I would grabbed myself a pair of those plastic booties. These places are filthy."

"Well Ms. Boa Vista, let's get dirty." Horatio decided to ignore Natalia's groan. So he had a dry sense of humor that often manifested itself in horrible puns, so what? Everyone had their own little quirks. Horatio parked the Hummer, then helped Natalia out. When he opened the door to the Cheetah Lounge, he was hit with a wave of horrible smell. He could pick out sweat, tobacco, alcohol and some nasty body odor. The place was dark, but from what he could see the Cheetah Lounge had fallen on hard times. The furniture, chairs and couches upholstered in cheetah print, was ripped, scuffed and he did not want to go over it with a black light. _Maybe brining Natalia wasn't such a good idea._

"Hey, H. Let's ask that guy if he owns the place." Natalia gestured to a man sitting out in front of the stripping stage. He was squat, his hair thin and combed over a massive bald spot. Horatio gestured for Natalia to go over and speak to him. She came back in a hurry. Apparently that man wasn't the owner but did have the body odor they had smelled on the way in. Horatio looked around, finally asking the bartender to point out the owner.

"I don't give Jake away." The man spat. Horatio showed him his badge, the metal flashing in the strobe lights that occasionally went off. "I'll get him for you." The man disappeared through a door behind the bar. He emerged with a smartly dressed man, his brown hair styled into spikes.

"Hi, I'm Jake Kerry. How can I help you officers?" He graced Horatio with a smile and stuck out a hand to shake. "You'll have my full cooperation of course." Horatio shook his hand, meeting the other man's green eyes.

"I'm Lieutenant Caine and this is CSI Boa Vista of the Miami-Dade Police." Horatio gestured to Natalia who gave a quick wave. "We were hoping that you could help us out. We're looking for this man," Horatio held out a picture of Chris. The man looked over, recognition in his eyes. "Do you recognize him?"

"Yeah. I called the cops on him. He was trying to sell his junk to my girls. I run a clean place here. No pimping, no drugs." Jake sneered down at the picture. "I haven't seen him recently though."

"Who did he try to sell to?" Horatio said, taking the picture back.

"Valerie, she's in the back." Jake walked off and gestured for them to follow. "She can tell you everything." He nodded to the man who was guarding the door to backstage. The more Horatio saw of this place, the more he was confused. A clean strip joint? Was it possible? It was an effort to keep his mask of emotionlessness as they walked into the backstage area. A row of makeup tables lined the back, small wardrobes against the wall. There didn't appear to be any of the private rooms that so often came with the stripping territory. What made him feel awkward through, were the women walking around, often dressed in nothing but a G-string and pasties. He was only a man for God's sake. _Thank God I didn't bring Delko._

"Yo, Val. Got some people here to talk to you." Jake yelled, catching the attention of a particularly voluptuous blonde. The woman made her way over, smiling at Jake.

"Who're your friends?" She asked, striking a pose that Horatio assumed was meant for Jake. At least he hoped it was.

"Couple of cops. They want to talk to you about that rat that was hanging around a few months ago. The guy who tried to sell the coke to you." Jake explained. "Just go over in a changing booth. And don't forget, you're on in ten minutes." Valerie nodded, Horatio and Natalia following her to a relatively private corner. Valerie drew a curtain around them. Horatio was suddenly aware that they were almost on top of each other, and that it was getting slightly warm.

"Valerie, we just need to speak to you about Chris." Horatio showed her the photo.

"Haven't seen him." She quickly said. Horatio raised an eyebrow, not quite believing her. "I mean, since he tried to sell me that stuff,"

"Really?" Horatio let the doubt creep into his voice. "Not at all."

"No, but, um, but why are you guys looking for him?"

"Murder." Natalia offered. Valerie looked at her, then quickly back to Horatio.

"Damn it!" She exploded, startling Natalia. "Goddamn it Chris!" The woman burst into tears, blubbering out an explanation as she sunk to the floor. "I-I t-told him. Quit it. Stop stealing, dealing. But he wouldn't. He w-wouldn't. Brought me jewelry, told me I was pretty." Valerie looked up at the two of them. "You probably think I'm an idiot don't you?" Natalia immediately lowered herself down, consoling the weeping woman. Horatio took a step back, letting the curtain fall between them. He couldn't deal with what was going on. Coke dealers, strippers, it was all too much. He was leaning against a wall when Natalia stepped out, fingering his sunglasses.

"Can't believe she stayed with him." The younger CSI said, mirroring her boss's posture. "Not even for cocaine."

"So she's clean?" Horatio didn't really believe that.

"Says she is. She gave me an address. Apparently Chris has been lying low at her house." Natalia gave him a sheet of notebook paper, an address scrawled out in messy handwriting. Horatio looked at it and gave an inward sigh. It was going to be a long day of running back and forth across the city, and so far they had only tracked down one guy. _Lord give me strength._ He prayed as they left the Cheetah Lounge, thanking Jake for his help.

He could certainly use a little divine assistance.


	17. Chapter 17

Laila always felt that shopping for high end clothes was almost like shopping for an image. You could go for ultra sexy, low cut up top and high hemmed below. Or professional, a charcoal jacket over a cream colored blouse. But she wasn't shopping for herself today. _Even though that lavender dress would look gorgeous, with a little silver necklace and some pumps._ She sighed as she walked past the display, instead turning for the Armani store. Suavely dressed mannequins guarded the doors, featureless faces looking down their noses at the shoppers.

"Ah, welcome to Armani. Home of the latest fashions." A salesman called out as they stepped in. He was a young man that spoke with a decidedly Cuban accent, dressed impeccably in a white linen suit and yellow shirt. The whole place was light, white wood and natural light from the windows contrasting sharply with the dark suits on display. "How can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm looking to buy a suit for my friend." Laila smiled at him, hoping a little feminine charm might get her far. "I've brought his measurements and was hoping you might be able to help me out. He usually wears Hugo Boss or another label." She held out a piece of paper with Horatio's measurements on it. She had laid out one of his jackets and measured that, estimating the width of it.

"Ach, Hugo Boss? I cannot compare fine Armani merchandise against that," The salesman executed a perfect sneer. "Swill."

"Ah, tell me," Laila glanced at his name tag. _Please let me channel my inner Julia Roberts._ "Marco, you work on commission. Correct?"

"_Si_."

"Then would you go get me another salesman? Somebody might want to earn some money today. And to think, I was going to buy a full three piece suit, too." Laila looked back at Blake. "Maybe we should head down to Marc Jacobs, they might have a better sense of style than," Laila cast a look at the Marco's suit. "That." With an exaggerated flip of her hair she began to walk to the door.

"_Senorita_, forgive me. Of course we can use the measurements, now if you will please follow me I can show you suits that you never believe existed." Marco called out as she took a step towards the door. Laila turned around, gesturing for him to continue on his way. Blake followed behind her, looking at the shop.

"Wasn't that a little harsh?" He whispered, his voice low.

"Yeah, but otherwise he would have treated us like dirt." Laila whispered back. "Now he thinks we're royalty."

"Ah, here we have the latest. Fresh from Milan." Marco said, gesturing to a dark red number. It was almost like an ancient smokers jacket, black lapels and all. Laila wanted to grab it and burn the damn thing. There was no way in hell she was buying Horatio a Hugh Heffner jacket. "Your friend would look wonderful in it. I just know. For instance, look at the stitching. Magnificent, so close together. And the fabric, pure silk."

"Hmm, Marco do you have anything more..." Laila searched for the right term. "Traditional? Something black?" She couldn't see Horatio dressing in such bright colors. He preferred darker colors, unusual for the sunny city of Miami.

"Of course. My apologies. What was I thinking, with this bright jacket. Traditional is always better." Marco said, guiding them to another section of the store. They were shown suits of all kinds. Navy, charcoal, gray, a whole rainbow of subdued, darkened colors. Some had silk lining, some had none. Laila stopped Marco when she saw what she wanted though. It was a non-descript black suit, cut in slightly at the waist. It had no gold thread sewn into it, no darker colors underneath. It was simple, classic.

It was perfect.

"Marco, this is it." Laila said, fingering the sleeve. It was lined with black silk on the inside, black plain woven cotton on the outside. There was a pair of matching slacks, and a vest underneath. The jacket featured a breast pocket, just like Horatio liked. "Will you find me this, in these measurements?"

"Right away." Marco said, taking the paper and sweeping away to the storage rooms. Laila noticed him make a face at the suit, as if he couldn't stand the dark suit. While they were waiting, Blake glanced down at the price tag. Laila watched him do it, mentally counting down. _Three, two, one..._

"That's, that's really expensive." Blake said, dropping the tag.

"Yeah, but I can afford it." Laila told him, examining the ties that were displayed nearby. _Should I get him a tie? It would look good, but... Nah, he never wears ties. The suit will work just fine._

"How? I mean, you've got that apartment, the car, and now you're out shopping."

"Very high turnaround rate." Laila chuckled. "I've already got eight stores lined up for Christmas ads, all willing to pay. And there'll be more before Christmas lets out. Then there's spring break. I've always got some irons in the fire. What about you Blake, what do you want?"

"Me?" Blake stood up, his eyebrows narrowing. "I always wanted to be a cop when I was a kid. I just like helping people, keeping them safe."

"You've got to want something. Better pay? Promotion?"

"I think every county employee wants better pay." Blake laughed. "As for promotion, I've been working for Detective Tripp for the past couple months. I'd like to be like him, a detective. I've been trying my best to show him that I'd be a good one, but I don't know if he's noticed. He called me in to guard you, but I'm not sure if that's a good sign or a bad one."

"Well, let's think." Laila said, leaning against a display. "Frank needed someone who he could trust for this job, so that's obviously a plus." Blake was looking at her now, hope in his eyes. "You're constantly vigilant, he's bound to notice that. And I'll put in a good word for you, I'm sure Horatio would as well. Maybe you can become Frank's protege or something."

"You'd do that for me?" Blake asked, looking at her with disbelief.

"Well, if I'm still alive by the time this is all blown over, then you've definitely done your job." Laila walked over and punched him lightly. Blake laughed, but then suddenly cut off as he heard the door alarm go off. His hand went to his pistol as he turned around, but he relaxed after he realized it was just a woman coming in to find a pocket square. Laila shook her head as she turned to see Marco coming back with a long, flat box. She knew folded inside it, covered in layers of tissue paper, was the suit. Marco took the box to the register, ranger her up, and Laila could have sworn he licked his lips as he ran her card. The transaction complete she lifted the box into her arms and nodded her thanks to Marco.

"Is there anything else you're doing today?" Blake asked as they made their way back to the patrol car. He hadn't parked it far, but Laila was almost miserable with the heat rolling up off the pavement and the sun beating down above. Thank God it looked like it was going to rain, huge thunderheads building out over Biscayne Bay. The fact that Miami got at least one shower a week was a blessing for her. It provided a break from the heat, and if it got muggy afterwards, well then it just made her want the rain all the more.

"Well, you want to take me by the club this afternoon?" Laila asked, holding the suit box with one hand as she opened the back door. She set the box on the seat, then lowered herself down into the passenger seat. It was a tad claustrophobic with the computer halfway over her, but she could deal with it.

"The club? I thought that didn't open until Thursday." Blake said, climbing into the driver's side and starting the car.

"Well, before all of this," She made a vague gesture. "Happened I had an interview lined up with a reporter for this afternoon. I'd hate to cancel. Plus, you can come and I'm fairly sure that everything is safe."

"I'll be the judge of that." Blake grunted as he pulled out. "As long as I stay with you, I guess we can go." The drive back to the apartment took about forty-five minutes, and Laila amused herself by listening to the police scanner and watching the ocean roll by as they drove down the island Bal Harbour was on. She felt the slight jounce of a bridge beneath her as the cruiser pulled onto a bridge. Finally they pulled up outside her high rise, Blake parking close to the building.

"Alright, we've got an hour." Laila said as she opened the apartment. As usual, for the past day, Blake went in first, only coming back when he had checked everywhere. Laila rolled her eyes as she walked past him, but not in a mean way. After what he had told her at the shop, she couldn't get mad at him. He was just trying to get a promotion, doing his job the best he could. Leaving Blake to resume his spot on the stool, she walked into the bedroom. The covers were still rumpled and thrown everywhere from last night, and she could still smell the cologne Horatio used when she held the sheets up to her nose. With a sigh she quickly made the bed, then set the Armani box down on the comforter. It looked perfect. _Hmm, maybe you should sprinkle rose petals over it?_

"Shut up." Laila muttered to herself.

"What?" Blake called from the living room.

"Nothing."

* * *

Horatio slowed the Hummer to a halt as they reached the address Valerie had given them. He parked a few houses away, hoping that Chris wouldn't be able to see the Hummer from the front windows. Opposed to the drop house they had got Jimmy at, the place was perfectly picturesque. It was small, probably a two bedroom. Single story, the roof done with terra cotta tiles. A few small pots of flowers, geraniums and lilies, were placed outside the door on a small wrought iron shelf. If Horatio hadn't known the owner was a stripper, he wouldn't have guessed it. _It's strange, appearances can be __deceiving. But if you dig, you can always find the truth._ He and Natalia exited the Hummer, walking up the path picked out in stepping stones. He knocked loudly on the door, then stepped back to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

"Is he not there?" Natalia said, walking over to a window and looking through. Casting a glance at the door, Horatio joined her. He had to shade his eyes to see in. It was dark, all he could make out was a large couch and a small television. Certainly nothing incriminating. He stepped back and looked to the side of the house. There was a wood slatted gate, probably leading to a pool. He moved over, closing one eye so that he could look through. Sure enough, there was a small pool.

"Did you hear that?" He whispered to Natalia. He had heard a small murmur, carried over to him on the breeze. Natalia opened her mouth to reply but Horatio quickly held up a finger, then touched it to his ear. There it was again. With the breeze blowing the right way, he could easily make out a voice.

"Clay...damn...Tony...Val's place...cops." He could only make out a few words, spoken by a male voice, but they were enough for him to reach to his hip and pull out his gun. Natalia did the same, and Horatio placed a hand on the latch to the backyard. He slowly lifted it, sliding the gate open without a squeak. Chris started speaking again. "No Tony, I don't! I've got my part, and I'm going out on my own." There was a moment of pregnant silence, Horatio and Natalia crouched behind a wall. "Well then fuck you too. Now don't ever call this fucking number again." Horatio heard the sound of bare feet slapping the pavement, and the squeak of a screen door opening.

"Horatio, what do we do?" Natalia whispered from behind him. This was a tricky situation. From what he had heard, he had more than enough cause to barge into the house and arrest Chris. He motioned for her to lean close so that he could speak quietly. The plan would be a basic one he had used before, something simple that had always worked in situations like this.

"Here's what we can do. You go around front, I'll come in the back door in case he tries to do anything." Horatio told her. Natalia nodded, and then both of them froze. They could hear a car driving up, brakes squealing to a stop. There was the slam of a door, and then footsteps crunching through the grass. The car was still running, and they were barely able to hear the sound of knocking. Horatio had just crept up to the gate when he heard the door open.

"Tony?" Chris' voice was curious. It was then immediately cut off by the sound of a gunshot. Horatio's reaction was immediate. He crashed through the gate, weapon drawn. Everything seemed to slow, and he could see Tony, his first look at the real man. He was bald, a tribal tattoo curling down one arm. He was dressed in a wife-beater and jeans, nothing strange for Miami. What hit him though was his eyes, a merciless brown. They were cold eyes, eyes that would reach into you, find your soul, and then rip it into tiny pieces in front of you. Horatio narrowed his own eyes in response.

"Miami-Dade Police! Put your weapon down!" He yelled, bringing his weapon to bear. Tony did neither, instead shooting at Horatio. Tony fired multiple times, not taking the time to aim but shooting randomly. The bullets ripped through the potted flowers, shredding petals and pottery alike as they sang towards him. Horatio felt a burning pain along his right temple as he dropped to the ground, out of the way. Something had hit him, whether it was a piece of pottery or a bullet he wasn't sure. He heard Tony run, slamming into the car and driving off. Horatio got to his feet, firing to try and hit tires, the gas tank, something that would stop him. He didn't though, but he did get the license plate.

Natalia came running out, crouching as she ran. Horatio gestured for her to stand, bringing a hand up to touch the side of his head. He could feel blood, running down his temple and soaking into his collar. He pulled out his handkerchief, pressing it to his temple to try and stem the bleeding. It wasn't the greatest, but it did help a little. He looked over to Natalia as she came over.

"Horatio, you need an ambulance." She told him, looking at the shredded flowers. "Let me call Fire and Rescue, and then we can get the rest of the team down here and process the scene."

"Natalia." He protested, turning around. Natalia grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, glaring at the wound.

"You have a three inch gash on the side of your head that is pouring blood. I am calling the EMT's before you pass out." Natalia didn't give him a lot of room to argue, so he merely nodded. He regretted it immediately, his vision swimming as he felt a sudden lance of pain run through him. He bit his tongue, unwilling to hiss in pain like he wanted.

"First, go to the Hummer. Put out a BOLO on a red sedan, Florida license plate T7GMN9." Horatio said. He could feel himself getting a little lightheaded, but he blinked it away and gritted his teeth. _Breathe in, breathe out. Keep focused._ While Natalia followed his order he moved over to where Chris lay, staring sightlessly at the storm rolling into Miami. Horatio looked down at the man he had been after, and he wasn't quite sure what to think. He didn't look like a coke dealer, he looked like a tourist that had come down for vacation.

Chris hadn't been a large man, either in weight or height. His face, while wasn't exactly ugly, was not handsome, his brown hair cropped close to his scalp. Whatever Valerie had been attracted to had been erased by the entry wound in between his eyes. He was dressed in a Tommy Bahama shirt, the parrot printed on it now painted a bright red. If anything, it made the macaw look more realistic, as if now that it was finally ready to fly off the shirt and into the trees around the house. _I must be losing a lot of blood._ Horatio pressed harder to the handkerchief, but was only rewarded with a fresh stream of blood squelching through his fingers.

He could hear the sirens wailing over the breeze, almost drowned out as the storm began to roll in, thunder deafening above him. The wind picked up, matching the rise in volume of the sirens. He could see the first fat raindrops falling, small puff of dust rising off the stepping stones in Valerie's lawn. A harsh red light cut through the rain, the ambulance pulling up in front of the house, a Hummer behind it. He could see Natalia directing the EMT's to him, could feel their arms guiding him towards the ambulance. He blinked, seeing Eric and Calleigh getting out from the Hummer, Ryan and Alexx from the backseat. Natalia ran over, explaining the situation as the paramedics tried to get him to lay down on the stretcher. He cracked a smile for them and held up his hand in a thumbs up gesture, even as the paramedics finally got him to sit on the stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance.


	18. Chapter 18

Laila and Blake stood just inside the entrance of The Speak, watching as Miami was covered by sheets of rain. It washed the streets clean, swirling leaves and debris alike down storm drains. Laila and Blake had barely made it inside the club in time, running from where the patrol car was parallel parked to the club. Now they were waiting on Erica, as they had been for the past ten minutes. Laila was just about to call her when she saw a news van pull up outside. With the CBS 4 logo plastered on the side of it, she could only assume it was Erica. The driver got out, putting up an umbrella and running to the passenger side. He held the door open as a petite blonde woman got out, covering her with the umbrella as she ran inside. After she was safe inside, he ran to the side of the van and came back with a large television camera.

"Hi, I'm Eric and this is Charlie." The blonde said once the cameraman had come in out of the rain. While he had been getting the camera the three of them had just looked awakwardly at each other, Erica focused mainly on Blake.

"It's nice to meet you Erica. I'm Laila and this is John." Laila shook her hand, giving her nothing more than a warm smile.

"I was not expecting there to be an officer here. Any particular reason?" Erica asked, gesturing for Charlie to get some shots of the club. "And, just curious, where'd you park? I didn't see any other cars around here."

"I parked out front. I'm here on an assignment." Blake said, crossing his arms. He would be waiting against a single wall, watching for anything suspicious. "As for why. I can't tell you."

"Here, Erica, why don't you come over here. These light fixtures were hand blown by a local artisan, based on designs from a leading Art Deco designer." Laila promptly changed the subject, drawing Erica's attention to the tables that ringed the upper floor. Each table was lit from above by a stained glass shade, allowing soft light to dance around the tables, glinting off the dark wood. "Each piece is unique."

"Interesting, and the chandelier?" Erica asked. "Charlie, get a nice wide shot of the floor. Then a tight one of the chandelier. We'll voice it over back at the studio." Charlie nodded, then hoisted his camera onto his shoulder and got to work.

"Ah, rescued from a hotel that was set to be destroyed." Laila grinned up at the dancing crystal. "Carl had it restored and hung it here. It's his pride and joy." Erica had set a recorder going when they had begun to talk, and now she shifted it onto the railing.

"Speaking of Mr. Gibson, is he not coming?" Erica turned suddenly, and Laila could see why Horatio had told her to be cautious. The look in her eyes of one of complete and utter ruthlessness. If she showed any hesitation she would take it as confirmation of whatever she had asked. "What about Richard, will he be attending the opening?"

"Unfortunately the younger Mr. Gibson will not be able to make it." Laila lied through her teeth, hoping that her father teaching her poker would pay off.

"Due to his arrest for cocaine possession?" Erica asked, raising her eyebrows. _Breathe in, don't give her what she wants. Wait, how'd she know about that? Horatio doesn't let anything out of the lab, but maybe she didn't get it from the lab. A tip from somebody seeing him go in the police station? Ah, whatever. Don't let her get to you. _

"I wasn't aware of that. I certainly hope that everything works out."

"In Richard's favor?"

"Well, it is always best to see justice done. I guess that's all we can hope for." Laila offered her a warm smile, glad that she had stomped on Erica's line of questioning. "Have you seen the dance floor? You have to come down. Now, during the club's regular hours the band will be playing a fifteen minute session every hour. It'll be mixed in with some modern hits, pop songs, classic blues."

"Sounds like fun."

"Well, we aim to please." Laila told her, gesturing from the bar to the stage. Erica walked over to a corner booth, motioning for her to follow. Laila obliged. Erica set the recorder up between them, her eyes deadly serious.

"Please me then. I need this story. If I get this one, I'll finally be back on top after that whole Leo and Sienna debacle. Do you know Lieutenant Caine, from the Miami-Dade police?" Erica asked, not giving her a chance to answer before continuing. "Anyway, he ruined that story for me. A beautiful tragic ending ruined by him. If I can get something on him, I could get back."

"Listen, Erica. I can't help you here." Laila raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I haven't been told any details about Richard's arrest, and I wouldn't tell you anything if I did. I'd feel bad for letting Carl down, talking behind his back." _There, she doesn't know the truth but you didn't exactly lie._

"What about your little guard over there? Why is he here?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. Just leave it." Laila said in a clipped tone. She fixed Erica with a glare to try and tell her that she should not be venturing into that territory. Erica responded with a glare of her own, her perfectly manicured nails clicking on the table. It was quickly interrupted by Laila's phone ringing loudly, a quick series of chirps that repeated every few seconds. Holding up a single finger Laila grabbed her phone and walked to where she was sure Erica wouldn't overhear her. She answered it hesitantly, not quite recognizing the number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Laila Collins?" A pleasant, Spanish accented voice asked.

"Yes, may I ask who's calling?"

"Oh, my apologies. I'm Rosa, from Dade Memorial. You were listed as the emergency contact for Horatio Caine."

"Is he okay?" Laila burst in, her concern apparently drawing Erica's attention.

"Oh, yes he's fine. Had a pretty nasty cut on the side of his head, and lost some blood, but he should be right as rain by tomorrow. You'll just need to come get him soon." Rosa sounded happy, and Laila realized she probably didn't call people with good news very often.

"Alright, I've got something going on but can you tell him I'll be by around four?"

"Yes I can, have a good day Laila."

"You too Rosa." Laila told her, hanging up the phone. _Well, at least he's not dead. That's a plus._

"Are you in any danger? You know, if you were you'd have to tell me so that I could be warned in case _I _was in danger because of you. It would be the right thing to do." Erica's voice was cold, any geniality having flown away.

"I really can't discuss it Erica. It's a personal matter, and I don't want it plastered over the six o'clock news. Besides, I thought you were here for the club. You know, there is going to be quite a large crowd coming to the opening." Laila rattled off a list of local celebrities, professional athletes, and a few minor stars that had already RSVP their spots. "If I were you, I'd be promoting that. People tend to be more interested in stars than blood."

"Hmph." Erica snorted, getting up from the booth and collecting Charlie from the dance floor where he had been shooting the stage. The rain had let up, and they quickly went outside. Laila was left with Blake, filling him in on what exactly they had to do next and watching Charlie film Erica in front of the club before loading the camera back into the van and driving off.

"She doesn't quit, does she?" Blake asked, walking her out to the cruiser.

"No, she doesn't." Laila sighed as she settled into her cramped seat. "But neither do I."

* * *

"You think H will be okay, Cal?" Eric asked as he walked into the house, carefully avoiding the pool of blood that had formed underneath the body. The murder of Chris Tine was an open and shut case, it is rather hard to claim your client's innocence when two police officers witnessed the crime, but since this house had been quarantined as a crime scene they were going to search for any clues to where Tony was or where he was headed.

"Horatio's never been out for long." Calleigh said, kneeling down by what was left of the flower pots outside. With a pair of latex gloves on she began to sort through them, finally rewarded with a piece that had a bright red smear of blood on an edge. She wrote a quick description down and placed it into an evidence folder. Envisioning the path of the bullets, she began to comb through the grass.

"Yeah, I think's he's only missed a few days of work ever since I started." Eric set his case down, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Natalia walked in, past Alexx who had begun to examine Chris. The cause of death was easily determined, but if they could recover the bullet, then they could easily link Tony here through evidence in addition to testimony. Natalia followed his example, and working together they began to comb the house. Natalia took the bedroom, sifting through clothes and some photos, hoping to find something. Delko tried the bathroom, but it was clean as well. As he was putting a bottle of aspirin back he heard his phone beep at him.

"Delko." He said, picking it up.

"Eric, it's Frank. We've got the car, but you'll have to come fish it out." The Texan's voice was harsh, uncharacteristically so, and Eric realized exactly what was going on. This guy had hurt Horatio, and now they weren't going to stop until they got him. Horatio would have done the same for any of them, in fact he had for Eric.

"He dumped it?" Eric asked, stripping his gloves off and making his way back outside.

"Yep, canal about ten miles away. No footprints or anything to track him." Frank sounded frustrated, and Eric could share the feeling. He didn't like it when the perps could just disappear, not leaving them any tracks.

"I'll be there in a bit." Eric told him. He put his case back into the Hummer, called the Lab to get someone to meet him at the canal with his diving equipment and a tow truck, and got a ride from a patrol car. Calleigh watched him leave, a few bullets cradled in her palm. She slid them into a ready envelope, then moved over to Alexx.

"Poor guy." Alexx said, lifting Chris' head. "Didn't even know what hit him."

"More like poor Valerie." Natalia retorted, stepping out of the house. "Now I've got to go tell her."

"You don't just want to call her?" Calleigh asked.

"No, that poor girl deserves to be told in person." Natalia shook her head, watching as Ryan came over from the backyard. Wolfe had been searching the backyard, seeing if he could recover anything. From the lack of any evidence in his hands, Natalia assumed he didn't have any luck. "Hey Ryan, you want to come with me?"

"Where?" Wolfe asked, looking up at the cloudy sky. It did feel like it was going to rain again.

"The Cheetah Lounge, we've got some bad news to deliver." Natalia told him, catching his arm and turning him towards one of the Hummers. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Uh, I guess not." Ryan said as he buckled himself in. Natalia made her way back across the city, pulling up outside the Cheetah Lounge for the second time that day. The parking lot was packed this time, and she finally had to pull into a parking lot across the street, then cross over. Ryan stayed with her, but Natalia was pretty sure she lost him when the door opened. One of the dancers was grinding against the pole, topless of course, dollar bills strewn around the stage by the crowd of loud-mouthed men that were enjoying the show.

"I definitely don't mind." Ryan told her, his eyes roaming from one girl to another. Natalia shook her head, moving over to the door to the back room. The bouncer glanced down at her, but moved aside when she flashed her badge. She walked in, looking around. Sure enough, Valerie was sitting in front of a mirror. She held a white powder puff, smoothing glitter down over her mostly naked body. She was only wearing a G-string, her pasties from this morning gone.

"God, you guys were back quick." She said, tossing the powder puff into a box. "Let me guess, you arrested Chris?"

"Well," Natalia stalled, "Not exactly."

"Then what?" Valerie asked, getting up from her stool. Ryan gave a little snort, his face turning red. Natalia turned around to him.

"Ryan, if you want to wait outside you can." She told him, taking a step towards Valerie. Ryan quickly disappeared, leaving Valerie and Natalia alone. Other girls were milling around, a few dancers waiting for their spot on stage.

"Listen, Valerie. I'm so sorry." Natalia put a hand on the other woman's bare shoulder. "But, we got there and-"

"What?" Valerie yelled, cupping a hand around her ear. A new routine must have started onstage, the music blasting out from the speakers. Natalia leaned closer to speak to her.

"I'm sorry, Chris is dead." Natalia almost yelled it, and yet only Valerie seemed to hear it. The younger woman's face crumpled, tears building up in her blue eyes. When Natalia tried to comfort her, she turned away. Valerie sunk back down onto the makeup stool, her face in her hands. Natalia went a little closer. "We tried, and I swear to Valerie, it wasn't us."

"Of course it was!" Valerie's voice was distorted by grief, her hands scrabbling over the little pots of makeup on the table. "You went over there and you shot him!"

"No, no it wasn't. Val, we would never shoot him."

"Don't call me Val." She yelled, throwing her glitter powder box at Natalia. Natalia scrambled backward, but the box had tipped open in flight and she was covered from head to toe in glitter. Natalia ducked out, running for the Hummer. Ryan was leaning against it, his eyebrows rising when he saw Natalia.

"Did you get glitter bombed?" He asked, a chuckle hidden in his question. Natalia didn't even give him a response, just hopping into the driver's seat. It had begun to rain again, lightning streaking across the sky as she drove back.

"You know, you try and explain things to people and they just don't want to listen." Natalia complained as she drove back to the lab. Calleigh and Alexx had apparently called Ryan while they were driving, the pair of them were already back at the lab. Eric would be back in about an hour, the car behind him.

"Hmm." Ryan replied. He had argued with women before. It never ended well for him.

"I mean, I told her we didn't shoot Chris and she just throws her freaking stripper glitter at me." Natalia wiped at her shirt with a hand, sending up a cloud of shiny powder. Ryan had to keep from sneezing, rubbing his nose until the cloud had settled. He let Natalia grip as they drove back, letting his mind wander.

* * *

Horatio looked over from the hospital bed he had been confined to. It wasn't his choice. If it was up to him, he'd be back out with his team, catching Tony. But when he had tried to stand up after the hospital staff had stitched his temple back up, the room had spun and a nurse had quickly ordered him back to bed. Unable to keep his balance, he hadn't put up much of an argument. About an hour ago a nurse had come in to check on him, saying that Laila would be by later to pick him up.

Horatio instead contented himself with laying back on the relatively soft pillow, and receive updates from team on his cell phone. Calleigh had recovered bullets from the ground, Alexx had Chris Tine tucked away in the morgue, and Eric was bringing the car in. He hadn't heard from Natalia or Ryan, but he knew they'd do their job. He was just letting his eyes drift shut when he heard his nurse talking to someone, walking towards him. He turned over, smiling when he saw who was coming. Laila was making her way over, in fact she was almost to his bed, her eyes quickly finding him. He could see the concern in her eyes, but she chuckled quietly and moved to his bedside.

"I think we need to stop this cycle." She said, holding out a hand to help him up.

"I'd agree with that." He told her. He gripped her hand, harder than he meant to, but she didn't give any sign that he had hurt her. She only smiled, keeping his hand in hers as she walked him to the elevator. Blake trailed behind them, quickly leading them to the car. When Horatio saw the patrol car he wanted to groan. Laila apparently understood what he was thinking.

"Relax, I won't make you ride in the back." She said, opening the front door and helping him down. She instead sat in the back, whispering to him through the screen. "I'm not that cruel."


	19. Chapter 19

Blake left once Horatio was inside the apartment, Laila assuring him that nothing would happen and that she would use every kind of lock she had to keep the door closed. Blake assured, she closed the door and returned to where she had left Horatio. She expected a full story later, but she wouldn't push him in this condition. He was sitting on the couch, only a couple of lamps lit to provide soft light. She had stripped him of his badge and gun before he had gone to sit down, setting them on the end table where they always rested. Horatio had been a little shocked when she pulled his gun off of him, but a raised eyebrow had silenced any complaints he might have had. When he had walked unsteadily out of the hospital, she had been concerned but not overly worried. She sat down on the arm of the couch, her fingers lightly brushing his face. He looked haggard, a little pale, but when he looked at her his eyes were clear and lucid.

"Hey you." She whispered.

"Sweetheart." He responded, his own hand finding hers. He called her 'sweetheart' every once in awhile. _I never have really figured a good pet name for him. I could call him Lieutenant, but I don't want him to feel like he's bringing his work home. H? Nah, I'd sound like Eric and Ryan. Ah well, he's always been Horatio to me. He always will be._

"You want some food? Some soup?" Laila asked. Horatio nodded, but he seemed rather reluctant to let go of her hand. She smiled, but quickly put some water on the stove for some instant chicken noodle soup. When she returned, Horatio was staring out the windows, contemplating the gray sky. It had begun to rain again, droplets hitting the windows with a soft pitter-patter. She resumed her place next to him, gently brushing her fingers through his hair. He had such nice hair, soft and feathery. She just couldn't believe it came from that cheap shampoo. When she looked back and saw steam rising from the pot, she stood.

"Did you have to stop?" He groaned, and Laila could see him turn his head to watch her make the soup. Once it was finished she returned to her ministrations. Horatio shifted himself, laying his head in her lap. Laila began to hum a random tune, one of those ones that sounded so familiar but you never could place it. Her fingers accidentally stayed against his stitches, and he took a sharp breath. Laila pulled her hands away, instead laying them on the sides of his face.

"I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" She apologized, her face hovering over his. There wasn't any resentment in his features, but for a split second she could have sworn that his eyes had flashed in pain.

"Fine, just a little tender." He mumbled. Laila smiled, then leaned down and gently kissed him. If she had to pick an activity that she had to do every day, it would be this. Just feeling the light pressure of his lips on hers, the way his fingers would wind through her hair, tickling her. The way she could feel his little smirk through his lips when he made her gasp as one hand tightened in her hair. The broke apart, and all she could do was stare into his eyes. They seemed a little bluer than before, as if the soft light had heightened the color. Laila brushed her fingers softly against his forehead, left, and returned with two bowls of soup. There wasn't much nutritional value to it, but it was warm and there was nothing better than warm soup on a rainy day. She reached over and flicked on the radio, tropical music on low.

"You know, I have some property down in Key West." Horatio said before blowing on a spoonful of broth. "A little house, down by a good fishing place. A flat that stretches for miles. I haven't been in awhile." He sighed, looking out the window.

"You fish?" Laila asked, truly surprised. She hadn't been fishing in forever. The last she could remember was when her grandfather took her out to fish on the Mississippi. He had died the year after that, and her mother had begun to try and turn her into a little princess. That had been the end of going to the nearest river with the neighbor boys, digging up worms, and seeing who could catch a big old catfish. It had been the beginning of dresses, makeup, and her mother's insistence that she behave like a lady.

"I enjoy the peace, the quiet. Just the ocean, the sun, and the fish."

"You should go soon." Laila smiled over her bowl at him. "You deserve it."

"Hmm." Horatio smirked back at her. He didn't respond beyond that, merely eating his coup. _Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to. He's been working hard, he deserves a break. I mean, good God, somedays the man works eighteen hours! He needs a vacation. And, well, I would like to go down to Key West. I haven't been down to Keys in a few years. _Horatio finished his soup and put a hand to his head, a ridge forming between his brows.

"Are you okay?" Laila asked, shaking herself out of her thoughts. He looked like he was in pain, but he didn't groan or cry. Laila smiled at this. _He's trying to be strong._

"Yeah, I just need to lie down." He mumbled. Laila helped him stand, catching him when he stumbled a bit. With a little effort they made it to the bedroom, Laila picking up the suit box and moving it off of the bed. Horatio lowered himself onto the bed, arranging his long legs so that he could rest his head on the pillows. Leaving the suit box on the coffee table in the living room, Laila came back and began to unlace Horatio's shoes. She pulled them off, set them by the side of the bed, and considered the fast asleep Horatio.

His breathing was normal, and a little of his color had returned. If anything, he just looked exhausted. She walked over, making sure her steps were quiet. He seemed peaceful, unworried. She smiled down at him, mentally wished him good dreams, and walked away. She shut the door slowly, making sure everything was silent. She wouldn't want to wake him up, not with the day he had had. She looked forlornly over at the suit box. So much for a romantic present.

"Ah, it's better that he's safe." She mumbled to herself. She could give up a little fantasy for him being returned safe and sound. She would definitely prefer him to have come home the way he did than not at all. "Safe, warm, and asleep. Besides, now I can give him surprise when he wakes up."

* * *

Horatio lay in the dark, having woken up about an hour ago but unwilling to leave the bed. He was still tired, a weariness that had set into his bones. He shifted himself over, but immediately went back. He just couldn't bring himself to move. It was so different, a ringing pain occasionally rising up in his head. Usually, he didn't suffer from any of that. No sickness, no injuries. But, he still got hurt. Usually he'd just suck it up and work through it, but anytime he told himself to the headache returned. The soup was still warm in his stomach, the rain still showering over a lit up Miami from an inky black sky.

He closed his eyes, picturing his little place in Key West. It was a small house, really only a bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. There was a small porch on the back, the deck leading down to a white sand beach. An old dock piling had been sunk into the ocean floor about twenty feet out, and when he went he would usually rent a skiff from the harbor and tie it up there. Then he'd just go out and fish. Bonefish, tarpon, he didn't care what he caught. He'd reel it in, snap a quick picture, then revive the fish and send it back out. He'd taken Ray and Yelina out a couple times, and Ray Jr. as well. But usually when he went, it was just himself. He'd go out and fish, eat a sandwich he packed for lunch, then come back before dark so he could watch the sun set over the water. Dinner would be something quickly fried up, and he'd sit down and read until he fell asleep. It was quiet, peaceful, a place where he didn't have to worry about anything.

The last time he had ben down, Hell it was after Marisol had died. He had taken Eric, they'd called in a few personal days, and had fished and got drunk on cheap beer until Eric had broke down crying. He shared stories through sobs, mourning in his own way. Horatio grieved with him, he hadn't been overly close to Marisol, but he felt for Eric.

Now they had both lost a sibling.

The next day had dawned early, and Eric was ready for another round of fishing after a night on the couch. They talked more about Marisol, life, death, and by the end of the trip Horatio felt better. He didn't know if Eric did, but Delko had looked more together. He returned to his job with a vengeance, and Horatio had as well. If he could prevent any person from experiencing what he had, he would do it. Nobody should have to go through that much pain, and sometimes he wondered why he had been chosen for it. But, he could never really figure it out. He'd think about it, a few times he had consulted a Catholic priest he knew, but he'd always shrug his shoulders and continue on his path.

Then Laila had come, unwilling to see him struggle along. He had found someone to share this burden with, and she had asked him to. That was what made him love her, she had asked him and readily accepted the weight. She bore it effortlessly, and she encouraged him along the way. Just look at today. She had not berated him for getting hurt, screeched about how worried she had been. When he had needed her, she had come. And when she needed him, he would be there.

Maybe, just maybe, he could take her down to his little fishing hut. They could be alone, without any guards or contracts to worry about. He could show her the perfect places to catch a fish, take her for conch fries at Jean's Fish Hut. With only one bed, they'd curl close for the night. A warm, safe little abode away from everything. He sighed, the blissful vision a balm to his pounding head. His headache soothed, he slowly moved his legs over and braced himself to stand. It was easier this time, his vision barely swimming. He opened the door, blinking a little at the light from the living room. He could smell more soup boiling, the sharp tang of onion present in the air. He walked over to find Laila dumping a can of beans into a roiling pot of broth. The soup from a few hours ago seemed like a distant memory, and every whiff of this new soup brought a slight pang of hunger.

"How was your nap?" She asked, setting the can down in the recycling.

"Good." Horatio smiled at her. "How did you know I'd be hungry?"

"I've lost some blood myself. You feel woozy, a little sleepy, but when you're on the mend you're just starving." Laila laughed, her voice quiet. In fact, everything was quiet. The music was still playing, a Jimmy Buffett song winding its languorous way through the steel drums and bright brass tones that characterized his style. The light was still soft, only a few lamps turned on. An abandoned book lay in a chair, a long, flat box rested on the coffee table. He walked over to it, running his fingers over the embossed letters.

"Armani." He muttered. He looked over to the kitchen. "What's this?"

"Oh, I got it for you. For the opening." Laila said, coming out of the kitchen while drying her hands. Horatio looked at her expectant face, then gently lifted the top off of the box. He flicked aside a sheet of tissue paper, seeing what lay below. It was a black suit, fine material precisely cut, resting on a bed of crinkly, white tissue paper. He lifted the jacket out, noting a vest beneath. He looked over at Laila. "Well try it on! I hope it fits, I estimated your measurements as best I could." Horatio appeased her, shedding the blazer he was already wearing for the new one. It fit like a glove, the material soft. Laila walked forward, buttoning it for him and smoothing it over his shoulders.

"Well, what do you think?" He asked her, glancing over at the boiling pot.

"You look amazing." She said. Horatio smiled, hands moving to her waist. The thought of cost had flown through his mind, but he dismissed it. Seeing her happy was worth whatever she had spent. He wouldn't deny her that because of some sense of pride. Besides, he liked the suit.

"Thank you." Horatio told her. "For everything."

"Horatio," Laila looked down, blushing slightly. "It was nothing."

* * *

She meant it. Compared to what he had done for her, it truly was nothing. Picking him up from the hospital when he had drove her there when she was hurt? A mere stop on the way home. Keeping the place quiet when he had held her through one of her worst nights? Truthfully, she liked the way it felt. A new suit? A mere triviality when he had put up with her parents, loved her, and been there for her. Leaving him to admire his present she went into the kitchen and doled out a couple of bowls for them. Horatio had placed the jacket back into the box, and nodded his thanks when she handed him a bowl.

"This is great." He mumbled, snagging another spoonful. Laila smiled, eating her own. It was little more than chicken broth, onions, and beans, but it was good. She looked out at the windows, starlight beginning to shine through as the squall was blown away. Horatio looked up from his soup. "So was Blake easier to deal with?"

"Yeah, it was better today." Laila set her spoon down. "He seemed a little freaked when we got to the club. Erica didn't even want to know about the club that much, kept asking me about Blake."

"Did you tell her anything?"

"Of course not. I told her that he was here for a personal matter, and that it was none of her goddamn business." Laila chuckled a little. "She kept asking me if I knew anything about Richard Gibson getting arrested."

"She knew he got arrested?"

"Yep, no idea how she knew. Didn't tell her anything about that either." She said, watching Horatio for any reaction. He put his spoon in his empty bowl, brought his hand up, and rubbed his eyes with a forefinger and thumb. He sat still for a moment.

"Must have gotten it from a receptionist or someone else. I wouldn't be surprised. The department has good officers, but some of them get distracted by the lure of the media." He sighed, touching his fingers quickly to his stitches. He ran a fingertip down them, then dropped it. Laila collected the bowls, put the leftovers in the fridge, and came back. She stood and listened to the music for a moment, beginning to sing along softly.

"_It was ninety miles to freedom_  
_But they took the risk_  
_Though ocean was all motion _  
_And the wind was brisk _  
_The deadly gunboats never saw them _  
_In the pale moonlight _  
_They were off to Cayo Hueso _  
_By the dawn's early light_"

"Everybody's got a cousin in Miami." Horatio concurred, standing up. Laila watched him sway a little bit, he put out a hand to steady himself. He looked over at her, smirking. "I'm going to take a shower." He turned around and began to walk to the bathroom before she called out.

"Take a bath, I don't want you falling." She told him, following him so that she could collect a few hangers for the suit. When she came out of the closet he had stripped off his jacket and was fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. He would get a button between his fingers, but would sway a little and have to steady himself, losing the button in the process. She set the hangers down and went to help him. The shirt was quickly removed, his chest bare. Laila placed a hand on his shoulder, staring at his chest in the mirror. He wasn't overly muscled, in fact he was rather lanky. But when she touched him, ran her hands over him, she could feel the muscles. She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

Leaving him to get the bath going, she went back out. The slacks were slung over a single hanger, the crease perfect. The vest and jacket were hung together, and she took them back to the closet. Horatio was in the tub, the water off. She smiled at him. He returned the smile, but closed his eyes and breathed in the scent that was coming off of the water. Laila sniffed. It smelled like eucalyptus, mint, all those scents that were supposed to help energize you.

"You used my bath salt, didn't you?" She giggled, looking over at him. He didn't respond, but took in a deep breath. Laila shook her head and left him to bathe.


	20. Chapter 20

Horatio's arrival the next day caused a bit of the stir. Yesterday's events had been quickly passed around, and it went unsaid that the Lieutenant was unwilling to let Tony Gear terrorize Miami for one more day. Calleigh kept to her lab, Eric to the garage, and Natalia to the DNA Lab. Occasionally one of them would step into Horatio's office, present him with a new piece of information, and then quickly step out to continue their work. Eric unearthed a piece of gold from the car, setting a clear bag down on Horatio's desk.

"The Pink Flamingo Motel." Horatio said, sliding the bag over. It contained a room key card, a bright blue background featuring a flamingo. The flamingo was grinning, a pair of shades resting on its bill. A single wind was outstretched, the number 153 stamped on it like a tattoo. "Ready for a trip Eric?"

"Yeah H, anything to get out of here. Skin's starting to crawl." Eric laughed. Horatio had experienced that before, the slight sensation that accompanied long periods of lab work. Both men made their way out to the Hummer, avoiding puddles left over from yesterday's rain. The drive over was tedious, a three mile backup causing them to wait an unusually long time.

They finally made it to the Pink Flamingo, a seedy looking two story building by the ocean. The only thing relatively pink about the place was the lawn flamingo that had been shoved into a small, dead, patch of grass. Ignoring the office, which was so filthy that Horatio didn't even want to knock on the door. Instead they moved around to the back of the motel, finding door 153. The curtains had been drawn over the grimy window, and a do not disturb sign hung on the doorknob. Horatio knocked loudly, waited a few seconds, and looked to Eric.

"Go get the owner. We need a key." Horatio told him, and was rewarded with Eric coming back in a couple minutes. Following him was a large man, his greasy brown hair parted down the middle. The man had a face that looked like it had been smashed in with a frying pan. He carried a white, plastic card that he quickly swiped through the lock on the door. It beeped and flashed a green light, and the door swung open easily under Horatio's hand. He glanced inside, ignoring the rumpled bed and stained chair. He stepped inside, eyes quickly sweeping the room. There was no one there, but there had been. A few empty beer bottles, random articles of clothing thrown around, and the still on television, betrayed the fact that until recently, this room had been occupied. Making sure not to step on anything, he walked towards the bathroom door.

"Eric, call Fire and Rescue. Now." He told, sending Delko out the door. Horatio kneeled down by the young man lying in the bathtub, blood staining the white bowl. His eyes flickered open, a soulful brown only a few shades lighter than his skin. "Son, I need you to stay with me. We've got an ambulance coming."

"I won't be leaving jus yet." The man spoke with a French accent, leading Horatio to assume he was Haitian. "Jus can't move." Horatio had to snort a little at that, before he looked down at the rest of the other man's body. His jeans were soaked with blood, slashes exposing where he had been attacked with a sharp knife.

"Who did this to you?" Horatio asked. "Was it Tony Gear?"

"You a policeman?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Caine. Miami-Dade PD."

"Meursault." He quickly nodded an introduction. "_Oui_, Lieutenant. It was Tony. I known Tony for as long as I been here. He was workin' on a ship that pulled into Port-Au-Prince, and I hired on for the trip back. Tony, back then he was simple sailor. Just wanted to work the boat. We get back, oh 'bout fifteen years ago. Fews years, it was great. Got my citizenship, worked the route, until our ship, she went down in Hurricane Opal when we try to make the run to Naw'leans. Captain drowns, only a few of us get picked up Coast Guard three days later. Tony never same since."

"What happened?" Horatio asked, hearing the wail of sirens getting closer.

"Tony decide he don't want to be sailor no more. Said he wanted more money. Signed onto a ship that ran ganga from Jamaica, catching fish on their way. See him occasionally, when my _Queen Marie_ come in next to him. Heard he started supplying the fishing crowd with coke. Girlfriend got hooked onto his stuff, and I was coming by to pick some. Tony gave me some, but I tells him that I can't pay until next month." Meursault broke off as the ambulance squealed to a stop outside the room.

Horatio looked over to EMT's unloading a stretcher. He stopped them for a moment before they entered the bathroom. "Gentlemen, this is a crime scene. Do not touch anything." The paramedics nodded, two of them picking Meursault up out of the tub and laying him on the stretcher. They quickly put an oxygen mask over his face.

"I don't have money." Meursault protested weakly as they began to wheel him away.

"Don't worry about paying." Horatio told him. He turned to the lead paramedic. "Will he be okay?"

"Massive tissue damage on his legs, but he should recover." The man told him before pushing the stretcher away. Horatio watched them load Meursault on the ambulance, then speed away to the nearest emergency room. Eric walked up to Horatio, the hotel owner outside.

"Did he know Tony?" Eric asked, setting his kit down and pulling on a pair of gloves so he could process the scene.

"Mmm, Eric doesn't the Coast Guard keep a registry of all ships that cross international borders?"

"Yeah. Do we need to find a ship?" Eric asked, collecting samples.

"A ship, and a man to sail her."

* * *

"So, I was saying to Curtis. Curtis, babe, stop eating all those oysters! I want to sleep tonight!" The lady next to Laila hooted loudly at her own joke, and Laila offered a grin. _Please, God. Whatever I did. Spare me._ She was sitting on a bench outside of Miami International, Blake standing next to her and an overweight tourist giving her an overview of all that had gone on during her stay. The lady was just about to go into another tale when Laila's phone buzzed.

"Hi honey! We just left the rental off, we'll be there in a minute!" Her mother said, then hung up.

"I'm sorry, but we have to go." Laila apologized to the tourist, grabbing Blake's arm. Neither of them were exactly eager to stick around and hear another tale of Curtis.

"You take care of her now! She's special!" The lady called at them as they went through the doors to the departures terminal. Laila and Blake looked at each other quickly, then dropped their gaze. The terminal was busy, people moving from counter to counter. Several were dragging kids behind them, giving a tug on the leash backpacks that seemed to be the latest style. She quickly looked around the terminal, waving when she noticed her parents.

When Blake had come that morning, she had quickly gotten into an argument with him about going to the airport. He had said it was too exposed, she had said it was perfectly safe. After all, there had to be at least fifty TSA agents around the airport. Each of which carried a weapon. She had then promised to stay in the apartment all day long, shut up in her bathroom if he wanted. Blake had laughed a little at that, but he seemed to get her point when she looked up at him. _"Blake, I don't want my parents to think I don't want to see them off. I love them, and I want to tell them goodbye."_

"Oh, I don't want to leave." Denice said as Laila hugged her tightly. Jeff stood by with the bags, watching as both women began to tear up slightly.

"I don't want you too." Laila told her. "But I'll see you soon." She could feel tears beginning to leak out, warm wetness trailing down her cheeks. When she glanced over to Jeff, he rolled his eyes and stepped over to the pair.

"All right, stop crying." He told them. "I won't get any peace if you make your mother cry." Both mother and daughter laughed, wiping at their eyes. Laila hugged her father tightly. "Don't get me started, sweetie." Laila giggled a little. She knew that when her father cried, she quickly lost it. It was because he never cried that it made her cry. Just one of those random emotional chain reactions.

"Oh, I'm going to miss you guys so much." She told them, quickly grasping their hands.

"Don't be afraid to call us." Denice said, then switched to a stage whisper. "And tell me about Horatio. I like him." Laila could feel her cheeks flush.

"Mom." She could feel herself whine slightly like a kid.

"Laila, if you ever need to talk about him. I know I wasn't much help with your boyfriends in high school," Jeff looked down at his feet. "But I can try. He's, different, than the boys back home. Not a bad different, but not what I'm used to." Laila smiled at her father's awkward expression. That was as much approval as she'd get from him. But still, it counted for something. She squeezed his hand tighter. But they had to leave, check in for their flight and make the trip to security. Laila watched them leave with a heavy heart, but she turned when Blake told her to come.

"Back to the house?" He asked, stepping out into the sun.

"That was our deal." She sighed. Soon enough they were back at the apartment, no instances had occurred during their drive back. _No one's even tried anything. Why is Blake still here?_ She thought as she walked into her bedroom. Then she remembered Horatio's injury, how out of it he had been last night. He hadn't told her where it came from, but she had the sinking suspicion that whoever had hurt him was who he feared might get her. She didn't even know where he had been or what had happened.

"Just focus on something else." She hissed to herself. "What to wear tomorrow night. That's good. You've got a dress, find shoes. Perfect shoes." Laila walked into her closet. She planned to wear the green dress she had worn when Horatio took her to that steakhouse. She looked at the collection of shoes that she had shoved into a set of shelves. She could consider her closet a walk in, but it was a tiny one. There wasn't a pedestal filled with purses and shoes in the middle, only clothes all around. One wall was taken up by a set of hampers, and clothing rods occupied the other ones. She looked at the dress, scrutinizing the green fabric. It would have to be something metallic, or a subdued color.

Her mind occupied she set to her work, but that lingering worry was still there.

* * *

"Eric, you got anything?" Horatio asked when he walked into his office.

"Searched the database, the _Queen Marie _docks over at Bayside Marketplace. Lot of fishing boats come in there, but only one shrimper has made trips to Jamaica recently. The _Byte Me_. Takes American exports to Jamaica, comes back with rum, produce, and I have a feeling the Captain's paid off a dock worker to look the other way about the marijuana. Other than that, she makes shrimp runs every few days."

"Hmm," Horatio considered this. What Eric had was good, solid intel. "Is she in the Marketplace harbor now?"

"I don't know, but just give me a minute." Eric said, stepping out. Horatio could see him talk for a minute, and he came back in. "Left early this morning to go on a shrimp run. Harbormaster said she'd be back in the late afternoon."

"Eric, I want you to go over there. Wait until she's tied up, and they're unloading so he can't go anywhere. Then call me, Frank, and we'll come in with a couple of patrols." Horatio ordered. Eric looked confused for a minute.

"Why don't you come with me?"

"I am going to the hospital." Horatio told him, pulling his jacket on. Meursault had intrigued him, the fact that Tony would attack a 'friend'. Plus, getting what he could from Meursault could increase the charges against Tony with testimony from a victim. Eric walked out, headed to the parking lot. Horatio was just about to join him when Frank waved him over.

"Horatio, Mrs. Evans is here." He said. "Pickin' up her daughter's body." Horatio grimaced slightly. He nodded his thanks to Frank, and moved for the reception area. A lone woman was sitting in a chair. She wore a black dress, her eyes pinched and rather splotchy. He walked over, noting the way the woman's face seemed to be stretched out. It was a look he commonly saw in suspects and witnesses who had undergone excessive facial surgery. She looked up at him when he lowered himself down next to her.

"Mrs. Evans." He nodded. He assumed the usual position he had for this situation, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. The woman blinked, and Horatio could see the icy blue eyes peer fiercely out from the reddened skin around them.

"Are they bringing Patrice?" Her voice was a little shaky, but high pitched.

"Yes, but they're running the paperwork. Mrs. Evans, are you alright?" He asked. The woman took a breath in, like she was trying to steel herself, but when she let it out her shoulders slumped over.

"It's getting better. I just-have you found the guy?" She asked, rubbing a knuckle at her eyes.

"Yes, but we don't have him yet." Horatio told her. "But we will."

"Why don't you? If you know who he is why don't you arrest him?"

"We're going to. Hopefully, if everything proceeds as we hope, he'll be here by the end of the day." Horatio didn't want to give any details, but he felt he had been vague enough to be reassuring but not overly forthcoming.

"But why would he do it?" Mrs. Evans began to sniff loudly, pulling a white handkerchief out of her purse. "Why Patrice? She never did anything to this guy. Her boyfriend was so upset when he heard, he took a golf club to his family's boat. My psychic says that she was contacted by Patrice yesterday, that she wants us all to move on. We're all just hoping to have a nice funeral and get a little closure."

"Mrs. Evans, if you ever need to talk to someone." Horatio started, reaching into his pocket for a contact card.

"Oh please, we've had so many people over I don't think I could talk to anyone else." She suddenly laughed. Horatio kept his face emotionless, not letting the strangeness overwhelm him. _Maybe it's just her own way of grieving. _"Ah, here we are." Two of Alexx's orderlies were walking towards them, rolling a stretcher. A body bag sat on it, Patrice zipped up inside. Mrs. Evans got up and directed them outside to the hearse she had brought along behind her Mercedes.

Horatio let her, instead climbing into his Hummer and going to the hospital where Meursault had been taken. A administrations nurse directed him to the fifth floor ICU. Horatio saw him immediately, his legs swathed in bandages. An IV drip was hooked up to the vein in his arm, his other hand occupied by leafing through a magazine. A woman sat in a chair beside his bed, speaking French to him. Horatio nodded to the both of them as he walked over.

"Lieutenant, you need sumthin'?" Meursault asked before turning and speaking a few sentences in rapid French. "'Dis is my sistah Essie. She don't speak _Anglaise_."

"I was hoping you could tell me a little more about what happened when you visited Tony." Horatio told him, pulling a chair over from the bunch by Essie. He pulled out a notepad, ready to copy what Meursault said."When did you go over?"

"Late last night. It coulda been early this morning, I don't know. It was dark, Tony does his business in the dark. Hotel manager been paid off, but don't like customers coming by during the day. Went over, had a few beers, and he offered me my usual. I told him I ain't got any money, but it was coming soon. Tony started yelling, the grabbed some'ting and whacked me over the head. I 'tink I passed out, next 'ting I know Tony's got me in the tub and is takin' his deck knife to my legs. Says he woulda killed me, but he'd give me a chance. He left 'den. I tried to pull myself out, but I couldn't. I figured the maid would come by or someone. Jus' wasn't expecting you."

"_Mon__ frère, ne pas en parler plus. Il ne vous causer des douleurs. Vous en avez assez de cela._" Essie said, laying her hand on Meursault's arm.

"_Je ne vais pas Essie_." He told her. "Lieutenant, I hope that's enough for you."

"It should be Meursault, it should be."


	21. Chapter 21

Eric Delko sat in his Hummer and watched the harbor. Ships of all kinds came and went. He watched as trawlers, new and old, came in and offloaded their catch. Varieties of fish lay on ice, hawked by merchants to the people meandering down the pier. THe Bayside Marketplace was a popular shopping place for sushi chefs, high end private cooks, and anyone who wanted fresh seafood. His stomach rumbled as the savory smell of cooked food wafted over from the Bubba Gump restaurant that overlooked the harbor. Delko put it out of his mind though, focused on a trawler that had just entered the harbor. It still wasn't the _Byte Me_, but these ships came and went quick enough that he had to keep a constant eye out. Some ships would just offload their catch, then head to another marina or harbor to dock for the day. Their catch would be taken into a covered area and sold. The ships that stayed though put their catch on display in front of their boat for the crowd meandering down the pier itself.

He started when there was a sudden knock on the window of the Hummer. An absolutely beautiful woman was standing there, platinum blonde hair flowing down her back. Eric found he had trouble meeting her eyes, he kept looking at the convertible behind her that contained two similarly unbelievable looking women. The blonde gestured for him to roll down the window. He checked the harbor, it was clear.

"Hi, I've got a little bet with my friends going." She bubbled when the window was open. Eric cracked a little smile at her, trying to keep his eyes on her face instead of the ample cleavage she was practically shoving down his throat. What would possess someone to wear a top that was barely there? "We're doing a scavenger hunt for Melinda's birthday, and it's worth an extra fifty points if we get a picture with a cute guy."

Eric sucked in a breath. It certainly was enticing, but when he looked back over to the harbor he knew what he had to do. "Listen, I'd love to but I'm on duty." He opened the door, sending the blonde back. Her stiletto heels clacked lightly on the pavement.

"But we want a picture." The blonde complained as he walked away. "It's not like you were that hot anyway!" He heard the door of the convertible slam and the tires squeal as they drove away. He stood by a concrete bench overlooking the harbor and focused on the ship coming in. It was a rough looking vessel, paint peeling and rust showing through. Her booms, swung back over the stern, looked as if they had been dented by something. The nets that hung from them were ratty, but serviceable. It looked just like any trawler that went out empty and came back filled with shrimp, but he could see the words _Byte Me_ stenciled on her bow. He pulled out his phone and selected Horatio from his contact list. It rang twice before he answered.

"H, she just came in." He told him.

"I'll be there in ten Eric. Don't draw any attention, just make sure he doesn't leave." Horatio said. "Remember Eric, he's violent. We don't want any civilian casualties." He hung up, leaving Delko staring at the harbor. _Byte Me _was just tying up to her slip, her deck hatch open to unload her catch. He lifted the small pair of binoculars he had been using in the Hummer to his eyes. He could see the captain come out from the wheelhouse, a short stocky man that gestured with a stubby cigar as he ordered the crew around. The crew themselves were a rather motley connection, dressed in grubby jeans, T-shirts, and a few in wife-beaters. Horatio had told him to look for a shaved head and a tribal tattoo on an arm.

He shifted the view from crewman to crewman. He finally spotted the tattoo on a man adjusting the line from the dock. He didn't look any different than the other sailors, on his ship or the others that had docked, but Eric knew it was him. The way his eyes shifted around the crowd, like he was trying to pick out an undercover operative. When the rest of the crew began to load the shrimp into tubs filled with ice, he chopped bait with a wicked looking knife. He heard familiar engines behind him, a Hummer and two patrol cars. He turned around to see H and Frank stepping out of the Hummer, two officers behind them.

"You still got him Eric?" Horatio asked. Eric could hear him step forward, and knew H was squinting his eyes to try and figure out which one was Tony. Eric passed him the binoculars.

"The rusted green one, guy chopping bait." Delko said. He watched as Horatio focused the binoculars, then as a smirk spread over his face. He lowered them, his eyes still locked on Tony. He drew his sunglasses on as he handed the binoculars back. Eric knew the look that Horatio had on his face. He was confident, their prey cornered. But when they had a suspect cornered, they often fought back. What Horatio was figuring out was how to get in, arrest Tony, and get out without any collateral damage.

"Horatio, what now?" Frank asked from behind him. The two officers were waiting by the cars, watching the CSI group. Everyone was waiting on Horatio, Eric watching as his boss considered the situation. It was a tricky setting. There was quite a crowd gathered around the dock to pick up fish, and an incredibly violent man who had no trouble killing. Too many cops would merely pull out their guns, run in and shoot their mouths off. That could quickly lead to a hostage situation

"Eric, Frank, come with me. We're going down there. If he tries to run, Eric I want you ready to go in the water. Frank, hang back a bit in case he decides to run down the dock. We're not going to be aggressive, we're going to treat him as a suspect in a case, which he is." Both Eric and Tripp nodded at Horatio's orders. It was a simple plan, but it cut off any exits that Tony might take. With a plan in place, the three set off.

* * *

Horatio breathed in the fresh air, the slight taste of salt on his tongue. The harbor, which doubled as a market place, was busy. Crowds had gathered around each ship, ready to pay for whatever the ship had hauled in. Horatio ignored the crowds, excusing himself when he needed to get by. He stopped at the _Byte Me_, pretending to be interested in the shrimp that was being unloaded. Tony hadn't noticed him, focused on slicing whatever unlucky fish had been caught for their bait. He could see the crew changing their nets for lines, obviously readying the ship to go out the next day.

"You want somethin'?" One of the men yelled out. He was dressed in a T-shirt, ripped jeans, and a pair of fisherman's boots. He held a slow burning cigar in one hand, the aromatic smoke mixing harshly with the stink of seafood. Horatio didn't notice. He'd smelled far worse in his lifetime than a bit of rotten fish. Decomp, bloaters, burnt flesh. Hell, the scent of rotten fish was pleasant compared to those.

"We need to speak with Tony Gear." Horatio told him. "Miami-Dade PD." Horatio shifted his jacket to reveal his badge and there was a sudden change in the man, he whirled around to glare at Tony. Tony himself had stopped chopping bait, his hand tightening on the handle of the knife.

"Gear, get over here." The captain barked. Tony took a couple steps over, stopping by the captain. He glared at Horatio, the knife still firmly in his grasp. Horatio didn't let it affect him, relishing in the fact that his sunglasses hid his eyes.

"What?" Tony's voice was flat, emotionless.

"Tony, can I see your knife?" Horatio asked, drawing on a pair of latex gloves. It was always best to start of with a simple request, ascertain if there was any evidence, and if there was, arrest him.

"My knife?"

"We have reason to believe that you may have been connected to an assault that occurred earlier today." Horatio let his voice drop. "Our witness says it was you." What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion, but Horatio knew it was all too fast. Tony shoved the captain, sending him flailing over the gunwale. Eric managed to catch him, staggering under the man's weight, while Tony leapt from the trawler and onto the dock. Horatio drew his gun, pointing it down as he chased after Tony. Frank and the two officers were waiting, and when Tony raised his knife to attack Frank the Texan leaned over and drove his fist into the other man's stomach. The knife clattered out of his hand, landing on the pier. When Frank drew back Tony stood up, his fists raised and Horatio could figure his eyes were darting to the knife.

"Tony. It's over." Horatio told him, stepping forward and putting the barrel of his gun inches from the back of his head. "Make your choice." He could see Tony tense, but he dropped his hands. One of the officers stepped forward, cuffing his hands behind his back. Horatio stepped over to the knife, exerting quite a bit of pressure to pop the knife out of the handle. Just as he had expected, Meursault's blood had seeped down the blade and stuck in the handle. He slid it back together, a DNA test would quickly confirm that Meursault had been attacked with this knife.

That alone would put Tony away. Horatio mentally calculated the charges against Tony. _Murder in the first degree, two counts. Theft of private property. Assault with a deadly weapon. And a nice couple charges of aggrivated assualt of a police police officer to top it all off._

"Nice hit Frank." Horatio said, watching as Tony was escorted to a patrol car. The man was dragging his feet, making it harder for the officers to get him in, but eventually he was forced into the back of the car.

The Texan shook out his hand. "Yeah, well I didn't want to shoot. Wasn't sure if I'd hit you." Horatio smirked and laughed a little. He clapped his friend on the shoulder as they made their way back to the Hummer. Once they were back at the headquarters Tony was taken away, booked, and put in an interview room for Horatio. He felt a little bit of satisfaction when he saw Tony cuffed, in a chair, and under guard. While he had been being booked, Valera had run the blood from the knife against a sample from the hotel. It was a match for Meursault.

"Mr. Gear, you were quite the man to track down." Horatio said as he walked in. Tony didn't reply, merely cocking an eyebrow. "Mr. Meursault was quite willing to help our investigation."

"Damn Alexandre." Tony grumbled. Horatio could see his bald head and cruel face reflected in the table. "Shouldn't have let him live."

"Then why did you?"

"Me and Alex, we been through a lot. Little Frenchie bastard saved my life once. I could slash him, screw him up, but just couldn't finish him off." Tony looked down at the table. "Chris, that slimy asshole would have taken all my share. Fucker deserved what he got."

"That's where you're wrong." Horatio leaned over the table. "Nobody deserves that. And I am going to make sure that you never get the chance to ruin lives ever again." Horatio narrowed his eyes. "You'll never see the light of day, let alone be able to harm anyone." Horatio gestured to the guard. "Take him out." The guard grabbed Tony's shoulder, forcing him to his feet.

"Don't think I didn't notice your little girlfriend Caine. Tall, blonde, drives a blue Mustang! I watched her Caine! Watched your little guard dog go in! After Chris it was gonna be him, then her!" Tony yelled at Horatio as he was about to step out of the door. "When I get out, she's next!" Horatio tightened his grip on the door, put only pushed it open. The guard shoved Tony through, and Horatio turned in the other direction. "She's dead! I'll get her, then you! You're both dead!" _That does it._

Horatio turned around, getting close to Tony's face. He held the man's eyes until Tony realized this man would gladly see him die. "If you try to hurt her, I will kill you." With that Horatio about-faced and made his way back to his office. He spent the rest of his day doing paperwork, occasionally glancing at his phone. Sure enough, he had a text from Laila. He smiled as he opened it.

_**Hey, Blake just left. So I guess that means congratulations! I'll have a little surprise for you when you get home.**_

The sense of anxiety, not in a bad way, made the day pass quickly. Soon enough he was pulling the Hummer into the parking lot and riding the elevator up to the apartment. He opened the door, greeted by a darkened room lit only by two long, tapered candles set on the table. He thought he could smell roses, and sure enough there was a vase full of them on the table, guarding two plates of steak and potatoes.

What he was surprised by though, was Laila.

She was standing by the table, trying to open a bottle of champagne. She wore a pair of jeans, tight in all the right places and a low-cut blouse. Her bare feet peeked out from the cuffs of her jeans, caressing the cool tile. The balcony was open, the wind tousling her hair. He was actually surprised to see some loose curls hanging around her shoulders. She seemed solely focused on the bottle of champagne. When he stepped forward though, she turned around and smiled widely. He could feel himself smile in return, placing his hands around her waist and kissing her. She chuckled slightly, and he heard a little thunk as she set the bottle on the table.

"You did all of this?" He asked when they broke apart.

* * *

"I thought you might like it. When Blake left I went out to get everything." Laila shifted her stance, picking the champagne up. _Damn cork, get out!_ Horatio must have noticed her struggle because he took the bottle and quickly opened it. He poured it into the two glasses on the table. Laila lifted one up, readying for a toast. "To freedom." She said it without thinking, but just seeing the way Horatio's brow crinkled and his eyes narrowed made her regret it instantly. "Alright, that was bad. I wasn't thinking, and I'm sorry. How about, safety?"

"Better." Horatio said, clinking his glass against hers. They both sipped at the bubbly liquid, Laila enjoying the feeling of the bubbles in her stomach. Horatio sat in a chair to her right, digging into dinner. She joined him, enjoying the savory steak and onion encrusted potatoes. Horatio seemed to be enjoying it as well. He made little grunts of satisfaction as he ate, stopping only when the plate had been cleaned.

"That was delicious." Horatio told her as she picked up his plate. She slipped them into the dishwasher, coming back to find him out on the balcony. As she looked at him from the door, she realized why she had done everything she had. It was for him. The way he would smile and speak to her made her want to do anything she could to make him happy, because him being happy made her happy. It had been chaotic for awhile, getting the flowers and steak from a grocery store and cooking it all up. Curling her hair had taken longer than she had wanted, there was enough hairspray in her hair to keep a mohawk vertical. She joined him out on the balcony, a little shocked when he pulled her over to sit on his lap instead of the other chair.

"Hmmm," He murmmured against her neck. "You are so wonderful. I love you." Laila could feel him run his nose along her neck, breathing in the Chanel No. 5 she had spritzed on her wrists and neck.

"I love you too, I love that we can do this again." She replied, giggling slightly at the slight sensation of his breath on her neck. "I think I might have gone crazy if I was kept inside any longer."

"It was just to keep you safe. Not to hurt you." He said, catching her chin gently in his fingers. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know, and I don't want you to feel that I blame you for anything. I'm just glad out lives are back to normal." Horatio gave her a look. "Well, as normal as our lives can get." He chuckled at that, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. Some odd feeling possessed her and she blew gently on the top of his head, through his hair to tickle his scalp. She then pressed kisses to his hair, feather light. Horatio groaned slightly, his hand on the small of her back as she pressed closer to him. She knew they'd wind up in the bed before long, but for now they could just sit out here in each others arms, the ever present breeze from the ocean curling around them, cooling heated skin.

* * *

**AN: Well, with this chapter this becomes my longest story on . And truthfully, I'm happy about it. I think I finally found a fandom that I can settle in, instead of drifting from fandom to fandom. It's got a good combination of science, imagery, and interesting characters. Everything in CSI: Miami makes sense, and it just feels right.**


	22. Chapter 22

The next night Horatio found himself watching the news while he waited for Laila. Erica Sykes was reporting on their arrest of Tony, framed against the Bayside harbor. He watched it with more than a little contempt, she was doing a fair job of reporting the facts, but she tended to apply more hype than what was needed. He brushed his hands down the slacks he was wearing, looking away from the television. He was wearing the Armani suit Laila had bought him, a dark blue shirt, and a pair of silver cufflinks that he rarely dragged out. He hadn't seen what Laila was wearing yet, but he was curious.

He raised his eyebrows slightly when she stepped out from the bedroom. She was wearing that green dress from one of their previous dates, a pair of dull white heels, almost pearl in color, and a pearl necklace. A pair of pearl earrings hung from her ears, tickling her neck whenever she turned her head. Her dress sparkled in the light that still barely lit up the Miami sky. Her skin glowed with a healthy tan, her perfume a slight trace in the air. He went over to her, smiling.

"You look amazing." He told her.

Laila smiled up at him. "As do you, quite handsome. Now, are you ready to go and have a little fun?"

"Fun?"

"Oh, Horatio. It's just a party. You don't even have to drive, Carl's sending a car."

"He is?"

"Yep, it wouldn't be good for someone to drive home drunk from one of his parties." Laila gave a little chuckle. "So he sends cars to everyone that doesn't have their own private chauffeur." Horatio himself had to crack a little grin at that. They took the elevator down to find a car waiting for them, a young man waiting to drive them to the club. Horatio sat in the darkened back of the car, Laila beside him. They didn't talk much on the way, occasionally making eye contact and smiling. Horatio hadn't known quite what to expect when they reached the club, but it wasn't this.

The whole place had been lit up, an actual red carpet reaching to the doors. Paparazzi stood around, being butted out of the way by television reporters so that they could interview the celebrities that went into the club. Horatio recognized a few pro ball players, some television actors, and he even saw a reality star or two. And of course there were the requisite local celebrities, all flashing the same green card as they walked in. Laila withdrew the same card from the small purse she had brought with her, holding it tightly in a hand.

The driver was just about to open the door when Laila suddenly urged him to put his sunglasses on. She herself had pulled out her own shades, a pair of brown aviators set in a brass frame. Horatio was suddenly glad she had when the door opened and he was assaulted by about fifty cameras flashing in his face. There was a collective sigh when he got out, photographers disappointed that he wasn't some celebrity. Laila still walked like she with one though, her hand wrapped around his.

There was another rush as a car pulled up, cameras blinding even through the shades. The door was guarded by two large men in suits, their hands on the handles of the door. Laila showed them the card and they pulled the door open, laughter and music spilling out. Horatio quickly removed his sunglasses when they got in, he wouldn't have been able to see otherwise. The club was dark, but the dance floor was lit rather well. The chandelier had been lit, light dancing off of crystals and over the bodies of the young, rich people below it. Stick thin girls clung to overly muscled boys, laughing uproariously and swinging themselves around. He looked away, following Laila as she moved through the crowd. She stopped in front of the bar.

"Give me a Patron margarita, salt on the rim and," She looked over and considered Horatio for a moment. "A scotch on the rocks." The bartender turned around, the drinks appearing almost instantly. Horatio waited for him to ask for money, but he never did. Laila noticed him. "Drinks are free tonight."

"Hmm." He mumbled. The music, loud and filled with deep bass notes, was getting to him. The band hadn't come out yet, so the DJ was playing some hip-hop music. His head began to throb in time with it. Laila turned her head, looking at him with a furrowed brow.

"You don't like it." She said. Horatio wanted to tell her that he did, that it was a great place and he was having a good time, but he couldn't. The music was too loud, the majority of the club dark, and he felt tired.

"It's not exactly my cup of tea." He confessed. Her face fell, but a hand waved off his concern.

"I should have known. I know you don't like these crowds, music. I just should have known better." She looked up at him. "Alright, how's this? I need to see Carl, alright? You come with me, we talk to Carl, dance when the band comes out, and then we can go get dinner somewhere. We've got the car for the whole night." Horatio considered her offer before nodding. It sounded acceptable, and they wouldn't be here long. He followed her through the crowd, back towards one of the booths. It was currently occupied by an older man, his hair turning gray around the edges. His suit probably cost more than Horatio's did, and it was more rumpled than Horatio would ever let his get. His face was kind through, crow's feet around his eyes showing how much he smiled. He broke into a wide one when he saw Laila, standing up and shaking her hand.

"I know you." He said after he shook Laila's hand.

* * *

Laila watched as Carl stared at Horatio. "You're Horatio Caine." Carl blinked a couple times. "Head of the crime lab. You're in charge of everyone there." Horatio blinked a couple times, but responded politely.

"Yes, and you are?" Horatio offered his hand for Carl to shake.

"Carl Gibson, one of your officers arrested my son." Carl spit out the words. "An Eric Delko. The police website you oversee him. Now why haven't I received any information about him?"

"Mr. Gibson, you'll have to give us a little time. I assure you, Richard will get a court date soon. And when he does, I will personally give you a call to tell you." Horatio diffused the situation with practiced grace, and Laila had to admit she was impressed. She quickly directed the conversation to a less explosive subject.

"The place is great, Carl. When's the band come on?" She asked, sipping her margarita.

"About ten minutes, and let me tell you it's going to be crazy." Carl delved into a tale about Carmen's latest drama, occasionally glancing to Horatio. But he seemed in a good mood, drinking liberally from a glass that was refilled continually by a passing waiter. He even talked to Horatio a little bit, finding that both men shared an enjoyment of old blues. Carl then began to tell how he came up with the idea.

"Well, I'd always loved those old, sad songs from the twenties, thirties all those years. And then all these TV channels start playing shows in those times, and I saw my chance. I bought this old place, fixed her up, and knew what theme I'd use. Found an old hotel on the bay that was going to be torn down, got permission to go in and grab what I could. Found the chandelier, and I took a camera to get pictures of anything I couldn't grab. And," Carl raised his hands. "Here we are."

"Very interesting." Horatio told him, nodding his head. There was a sudden hush in the club, only broken by footsteps as the band took their places on the stage. All three turned their heads, watching as Carmen stepped up to the microphone.

"How's everybody feelin' tonight?" She asked. The crowd yelled in response. "Well then let's get started!" The band tore into a ragtime number, Carmen's voice lilting out the lyrics. Laila smirked at the people trying to dance their own little Charleston, and failing miserably at it. Being a little more sober probably would have helped, but not even that would have given them enough grace to do that dance. The band played a few more rags, and Laila could see Horatio smiling a little. Maybe he would like the band, at least.

"You want to dance?" He asked suddenly as the band's music began to slow. Laila nodded enthusiastically, accepting his hand and rising from the table. She waved goodbye to Carl, following Horatio down the stairs. The dance floor had cleared out, only couples now remaining to dance. She placed her hands around Horatio's shoulders, feeling his on her waist. They made her skin shiver, and then they began to sway.

"_You must remember this_  
_A kiss is still a kiss_  
_A sigh is still just a sigh_  
_The fundamental things apply_  
_As time goes by_"

While Carmen didn't have Sinatra's voice, she could still carry the tune. The piano played quietly, a few chords ringing out. Brass provided a little theme to it, pitched low and quiet beneath the singer and keys. Horatio didn't seem to mind when she pressed herself a little closer to him, in fact she swore his blue eyes sparkled when she did. The chandelier now seemed perfect for the spot, crystals bouncing light all around them.

"_And when two lovers woo_  
_They still say, 'I love you'_  
_On that you can rely_  
_No matter what the future brings_  
_As time goes by_"

There was a sudden flash from a camera, some reporter making the rounds. Laila ignored it, instead feeling Horatio's hands splay out across her lower back. He suddenly spun her around, and she bit back a laugh that would have been out of place in the darkened bar. The camera flashed again, but she could have cared less. The crooning melody from Casablanca had swept her up.

"_Moonlight and love songs - never out of date_  
_Hearts full of passion - jealousy and hate_  
_Woman needs man - and man must have his mate_  
_That no one can deny_"

There was just a trace of a Spanish accent to Carmen's voice, but it only made the song that more delectable. She suddenly found herself wishing that all these other people would clear out. All she wanted was Horatio and this music, the twirl around in its melody knowing that the only other person to enjoy it was him. But the song was winding down, more people talking about getting back out to dance. Soon enough, they'd be forced back out while other people danced.

"_It's still the same old story_  
_A fight for love and glory_  
_A case of do or die_  
_The world will always welcome lovers_  
_As time goes by_"

Horatio leaned in and kissed her as the music ended, and Laila truthfully didn't care if the round of cheering was for the band or them. Horatio pulled back, and Laila could feel herself gasp as he did. She blinked rapidly, letting him pull her along, out of the way of the crowd. They stood off to the side, arms still around each other.

"Dinner?" She asked.

"Dinner."

* * *

Horatio sat in the back of the car as the driver tried to find them a Chinese place for dinner. His fingers were intertwined with Laila's resting in his lap. Laila hadn't seemed to upset to leave the club, only stopping once on their way out so she could hug a friend of hers. When they had got into the car she had looked over at him and said that she was starving. Horatio had chuckled and asked the driver to find them a place. He could still feel a bit of guilt roiling in his gut, causing him to do something that usually wouldn't of.

"I was thinking, how would you like to go down to my place in Key West?" He asked. Laila looked baffled at him and he quickly explained. "I could take a personal day tomorrow, we could head down and spend the whole weekend fishing."

"Horatio are you trying to make up for the club?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe."

"Well, your idea certainly does make up. In fact, that sounds amazing." She suddenly threw her arms around him, smiling widely. He held her there for a moment, breathing in her perfume. The driver opened the door, sat back down, and told them that there was a Cantonese place nearby. Horatio kept her hand in his as they drove there. Dinner was a relatively quick affair, and they decided to let the car go when they caught sight of an ice cream parlor. It was fairly close to the apartment so they figured they could walk.

"I'll have a cake batter with cookie dough and caramel." Laila ordered at the counter. She stepped aside to allow Horatio to order.

"Mint and chip with extra chocolate syrup." Horatio nodded his thanks to the girl behind the counter as she began to make their orders. With their ice cream firmly in hand, Horatio and Laila sat outside in the somewhat warm Miami air. He noticed how Laila would look through her ice cream with her spoon, snapping up any cookie dough she found. It was cute, he had to admit that.

"So, Carl seemed a little hostile." She stated, scooping up a spoonful of ice cream.

"He was concerned for his son." Horatio replied. "I can understand that. Family can be difficult."

"You ever think about having kids?" Laila asked suddenly. Horatio started a little, unsure of how to answer.

"Sometimes. I do want children, but sometimes I couldn't imagine putting a child at risk in this city." Horatio shook his head. "And other times all I can think about is holding a little son or daughter, watching them grow up." He stabbed his spoon into his ice cream.

"I can understand that." She whispered. "When my mother started bugging me about getting married, having grandkids, back when I was home over the summer sometime, I would just lose it. I didn't want to have a kid just because she wanted one, and definitely wouldn't expose a kid to Conger." They both lapsed into silence for a minute before she spoke again. "But you're right, sometimes I'll see a kid and wonder what mine would be like. If she'd be smart, popular. Everything I wasn't."

Horatio stretched out a hand to cover hers. "Maybe we'll find out, someday." They finished their ice cream before walking back. Horatio's eyes glanced towards her Mustang as they walked back, remembering what Tony had said. But the car appeared fine, and he'd be sure to check it throughly in the morning before they left. He was truthfully looking forward to the trip. All he had to do was call in his personal day. He had racked up quite a few of them over the years. Rarely taking time off would do that. When Laila went to use the restroom when they got back to the apartment he called the Miami-Dade County employee line.

"Miami-Dade County. Please state your name, reason for leave, and the time after the tone." An automated voice ordered. Shortly after there was a beep.

"Lieutenant Horatio Caine, Miami-Dade Police. I'm taking a personal day due to injury. I will return to work on Monday. The time of this message is," He quickly checked his watch. "Ten fifty-three." He hung up, then drew his hand through his hair. He called Eric next.

"Hey H, we got something?" Eric asked, pulsing music evident through the phone's speaker.

"No, but Eric - can you even hear me?" Horatio could barely make out Eric's voice over the music.

"Just a sec." Eric went quiet for a moment, and the music suddenly vanished. "There, better?"

"Yes, now Eric I am going out tomorrow. I won't be available on my cell. If anything comes up that you cannot handle, call the Key West number. I gave it to you, right?" Horatio looked up as Laila walked back out.

"You got it H!" Eric said before hanging up. Horatio walked over to Laila. Her hair had loosened even further from its curls, hanging around her shoulders. He let one hand play through it as he bent down to press his lips quickly to hers. He pulled back, a few quick images racing through his mind. Laila standing in front of him, a swaddled infant possessing her blonde hair and his blue eyes. The two of them watching down into a crib. He blinked them away, shaking his head.

"Did you have a good night?" She asked her own fingers threading through his hair. He loved the feel of her fingernails tickling his scalp. It made him feel hyper-sensitive, like every time a hair slipped under her nails it tickled him down to his bones.

"I did." He said as her fingers slipped from his scalp to the sides of his face. Her fingers delicately avoided his stitches as she traced his cheekbones and jaw line. He caught her fingers, holding them in front of him so he could quickly kiss them. Laila giggled and he let them go. "Did you?"

"You know what," She smiled at him. "I really did."


	23. Epilogue

**AN: I would personally like to thank everyone who has read this story. You guys make all of this worth it. I write this story for myself,because I have a story to tell and you all make telling it better for me. I will have another story out shortly, and a few short fics in between. But for now, I leave you with this epilogue. I have tried to capture the feeling of the Florida Keys, even though I haven't been. But I've read much about them (thanks to Jimmy Buffett) and I have been to Puerto Vallarta, Cancun, and Rocky Point and I've tried to translate the relaxed vibe that I know and love. One of the locals we met during our Mexican vacations told us, "You gringos, you move to fast. You lose track of life in your work." I actually took his advice to heart, and I try to leave time away from my work to do the things I love, such as write stories.**

**Oh, I also haven't done this. I do not own any of the CSI: Miami characters, nor do I own the lyrics to any songs that I have used. The characters belong to CBS and the lyrics of "Weather is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful" to Jimmy Buffett and the lyrics to "Island Song" Zac Brown Band. Give them a listen, you won't regret it.**

* * *

Laila wasn't quite sure if she had ever been this happy. An ocean scented breeze was blowing around her, stirring her fishing line and sending out little ripples in the sea. She was sitting in a small skiff that had been tied up by Horatio's little house. He had piloted the skiff to a flat, poling through the shallows when they got close so as to not scare the fish away. Now they were just floating, back to back, while the radio whiled away the hours.

"_The__ weather is here I wish you were beautiful  
__The skies are too clear life's so easy today  
__The beer is too cold, the daiquiris too fruitiful  
__No place like home when you're this far away_"

Laila didn't even know what they were fishing for, but she was loving every minute of this. They had driven down Friday morning, after Horatio had gone through a thorough check of her car. After giving the all clear, Laila didn't even know what for, they had gotten on the A1A and taken it all the way down the line. Horatio's little house was set away from the main town around the naval base. She had driven along a little dirt track until they had pulled up to a small clapboard house done in pastel yellow with a cream trim. A white rocking chair sat on its little porch, a bike beside it. It had a peaceful feeling to it, just like the island. Everything was a little slower down here, but the sights and smells and sensations were just that more vivid.

The inside was just as calm. An old couch sat in front of a coffee table, bookcases all around. The first thing that struck Laila bout all the books was that they were all dog eared paperbacks, not a new glossy cover in sight. _Book retirement house, heh. _But they were all good ones. If Horatio's collection at the apartment was mostly forensic books, these were his fiction. She hadn't minded a bit when he had taken a small box off of a bookshelf and had her put her cell phone in. She had been glad to drop it in, to leave her life behind for a few days. Horatio had dropped his in as well, closed the box, and then put it on the shelf. Laila had taken a book and moved out to he back porch. Horatio had a porch swing slung underneath the roof, and Laila had just sat there and read while the ocean rolled in and out endlessly.

Later that day they had driven into town, got some fried fish and conch from Jean's Fish Hut, and she was pretty sure this was Heaven. Only Heaven could have had food this fresh and flavorful, a breeze that never stopped, and good, albeit odd, company around constantly. Friday had been spent going around the island, collecting bait, renting the skiff and getting some groceries. They had dinner, fish tacos, in the Mustang and watched planes take off from the naval air station. They had seen fighter jets, cargo planes and sea planes flash through the sky and disappear over the water.

When they got back they had walked along the beach, letting the warm water trickle over their toes. Then it had been back to the house, laying together in a hammock strung between two palm trees just off the porch. They had watched the heavens together, eyes gliding across the Milky Way and following Orion as he pursued the Pleiades. When they would find a new constellation, Laila would try and remember the old mythology stories from her humanities classes. Then she would whisper what she remembered to Horatio as he rocked the hammock gently.

Saturday, after a night of close sleep, she had pulled on her bikini and threw on some clothes over it. Now they were sitting out in the middle of the ocean in the rented skiff, rolling gently in the swells. She had slipped into the warm water at one point, and now her wet hair dripped down her back. Horatio had helped back into the boat, they had baited the lines, and now they sat in the sun. Laila knew she'd sleep well tonight, the sun making her drowsy. Her fingers brushed against the old Polaroid camera, brought in case they caught anything. Horatio had a cork-board filled with pictures of his catches.

She felt Horatio shift slightly, heard the slight clicking as his line went out farther. But he relaxed a moment later, no fish on the line. She chuckled and let the ocean's rhythm roll through her, spreading out in a small smile on her face.

"_If you really wanna know where you can find me_  
_I'll be unwinding_  
_Down in the islands, down in the islands_  
_You should loose track of your timing_  
_Grab a drink beside me_  
_Down in the islands, down in the islands_"


End file.
